


Get It Done

by orphan_account



Series: One Boy In All The World [5]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Buffy AU, Emotional Manipulation, M/M, Slayer Stiles, Violence, bad relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-08
Updated: 2014-02-08
Packaged: 2018-01-11 13:40:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 24,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1173718
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“When,” Stiles stutters his throat raw and crackly and he blushes clearing his throat slightly not even wanting to think about how it got that way. He glances around again very skittish like at the current post hurricane state of his surroundings. “The apartment?”</p><p>Peter glances around and gives a soft chuckle that startles Stiles and for some reason he pulls the towel tighter around himself. “Yeah, must have been sometime between the first time and,” he thinks, contemplating his answer like he’s counting in his head. </p><p> Stiles doesn’t let him finish that thought the night’s events coming back to him very vividly. “Oh,” Stiles says weakly swaying a little. Reality decides to bitch slap him in the face round about now. “Oh my god,” Stiles whines suddenly completely and utterly mortified.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Get It Done

**Author's Note:**

> Trigger Warning for fucked up relationships, if any Buffy fans are reading Peter/Stiles's relationship is basically the same as Spuffy's relationship in season 6. So abuse and manipulation goes on from _both _parties.__

The road is long, straightforward and empty, the houses at either side look as if they’ve been abandoned. It’s like a ghost town, something out of a horror movie, the streets bare, there is an eerie quietness not even a bird is chirping. A grey blanket of cloud darkens the light of the sun.  

 

Stiles has this feeling in the back of his mind like he has somewhere he’s meant to be but he can’t stop his feet from moving down the straight road. He has no sense of time and his surroundings pass in a blur yet at no point does he feel rushed it’s more like losing time. Stiles isn’t sure how long he walks for but when he next looks up the thick clouds have dissipated to scatterings on a blue sky slowly fading to orange as the sun begins to sink below the horizon.  

 

He’s walking towards the sunset the only sounds are from his shoes as they hit the hot tar.

 

Out of nowhere Derek appears walking towards him, dark jeans and grey t-shirt, he looks relaxed, unrushed like everything surrounding them. He approaches Stiles circling round his back and walking beside looking at him like he’s waiting for him to speak but Stiles just keeps walking at first and Derek follows steadily.

 

“Where is everyone?” Stiles asks his voice swallowed by the emptiness around him.

 

Derek looks at him like he’s expecting the question and for once he holds no worries on his face and Stiles is confused by it, he seems strangely at peace. “It’s not your job to care.”

 

The answer should confuse Stiles but instead he’s glancing around, his walk slowing in pace. “Am I dreaming?”

 

“I’m not really the right person to ask.” Derek says in amusement.

 

The sudden feeling from before overcomes Stiles like he’s completely forgotten that he has something he needs to do and he’s desperately trying to remember it. He thinks about asking Derek but his eyes are staring into the distance oddly vacant. “Not long now,” he says still looking ahead then to Stiles he says firmly, “you should go.”

 

Stiles suddenly feels afraid and not the rational adult way but like a child who’s afraid of a monster under their bed. “But I don’t want to.”

 

“You don’t really have a choice.” Derek answers not uncaringly, but his tone is neutral yet not in a cold way more matter of fact.

 

Stiles turns his gaze to the road ahead, it looks like it goes on forever and in the distance Stiles can see the shimmering of heat as it rises up through the air. Stiles feels a sudden sense of defeat even though he hasn’t even started his journey, all he knows is it’s going to be long and hard.

 

He turns back to Derek who has stopped suddenly and Stiles knows it’s because Derek can’t continue any further this is Stiles’s journey and his alone. “Will you wait for me?”

 

Derek smiles a kind of smile that belongs to a different person, someone younger and more carefree, someone not burdened by the things that Derek has to carry. “The real question is will you wait for me.” 

 

Stiles frowns, he wants to ask Derek want he means but before he knows his head is turning back to the road ahead, his feet beginning to walk forward one at a time. He glances back only to see that Derek has vanished.  

 

He moves forward yet the sunset gets no closer and the road seems to stretch even longer but Stiles continues to walk, alone.

 

 

-

 

 

When Stiles wakes he wakes with a start, his body aching like he’s done a marathon or an all night pending-apocalyptic slay. His muscles are screaming in protest at any attempt to move his bones cracking at the slightest jerk. His brain is fogged over, sluggish at putting thoughts together at first and Stiles just slips into a haze allowing the nothingness to overcome him a bit.

 

His eyes take some time to adjust at first as cloudy as his brain and then he’s suddenly wincing at the masses of flooding light coming into the room. Probably a joke of his dad’s leaving the curtains wide open so he’ll get up without protest. Except his mattress feels more like a hard wooden floor and his covers feel more like a coarse blanket.  

 

It’s then when he starts to feel the stinging pain of scrapped skin on his collarbone and around his neck; there is the throbbing of a healing bruise particularly around his jugular, his jaw stinging slightly from what can only be described as some sort of rash.

 

Stiles legs are starting to cramp and he stretches them out his brain finally back online after it’s sluggish reboot. Suddenly he realises he’s not in his bed, not in his room not even in his own fucking house.

 

He jack-knifes off the floor – not his fucking bed like he suppose to – his eyes flickering around the strange apartment. The trashed apartment would be a better description, parts of the wall look like they’ve been rammed into several times leaving person-sized dents, there’s even holes from where fists have punched into the plaster. In the corner near the open lounge the glass base of the coffee table has been completely shattered.

 

The couch has a couple deep animal like scratch marks torn through the material, chairs are lying on the floor having been shoved aside and even the kitchen is a mess, appliances lay broken and un-repairable from where they’ve been swept off the counter.

 

The only thing that lays untouched is the double bed in the corner but there is no doubt of what happened even though that piece of furniture is completely untouched. Stiles would jump to the conclusion some kind of fight but his clothes are strewn around the room leaving him completely bare and Stiles really doubts he went all-Spartan for a showdown.

 

The brief brush of fingertips against the small of his back has Stiles scrambling to his feet pressing the towel to himself in an attempt to keep his modesty.

 

Peter has a daze look on his face, eyes glazed with satisfaction his whole body completely relaxed, though his movements are just about as sluggish as Stiles’. His upper chest has fading hickeys and slowly healing scrapes of it’s own, his neck and jaw in particular are taking longer to heal, the marks still noticeable. Around his forearms are decorated slightly with dried blood where scratches have healed. All in all he looks slightly out of it but nevertheless pleased with himself.

 

“When,” Stiles stutters his throat raw and crackly and he blushes clearing it slightly not even wanting to think about how it got that way. He glances around again very skittish like at the current post hurricane state of his surroundings. “The apartment?”

 

Peter glances around and gives a soft chuckle that startles Stiles and for some reason he pulls the towel tighter around himself. “Yeah,” Peter says his voice also hoarse but not to the extent of Stiles’. “Must have been sometime between the first time and,” he thinks, contemplating his answer like he’s counting in his head.

 

Stiles doesn’t let him finish that thought the night’s events coming back to him very vividly. “Oh,” he says weakly swaying a little.

 

Reality decides to bitch slap him in the face round about now. “Oh my god,” Stiles whines suddenly completely and utterly mortified.

 

Stiles scampers around the room still attempting to keep himself covered from Peter’s prying eyes as he gathers his clothing slipping into his boxers and jeans ignoring the itchy feeling of something he doesn’t even want to register right now. His baggy t-shirt seems to have survived draped over a lamp. He slips it on successfully hiding the marks on his chest but still leaving the hideous bite mark in sight. He slips on one of his converse, searching for the other.

 

He glances at Peter only to see the man giving him a self-assured smile holding his other converse in his hand. “What’s the hurry?”

 

Stiles splutters glancing at the oven timer baulking at the time. “The hurry is it’s near one and I’m meant to be in school.”

 

When Stiles goes to reach Peter pulls it back with a smirk. “Give it to me.” Stiles snaps impatiently.

 

“Oh come on,” Peter quips, “you can do better than that.”

 

Stiles just crosses his arms completely unimpressed.

 

Peter cocks his head regarding Stiles with something in his gaze that makes Stiles flush. “You weren’t afraid to ask for what you wanted last night, right through to the early hours of the morning in fact.”

 

“Shut up.”

 

Peter smirks, his gaze still slightly lethargic but dark want is beginning to cloud his eyes once more and he licks his lips. “You’re late now anyway you might as well stay.”

 

Stiles’s short bitter laugh verges on hysterical. “Forget it, this is never happening again, a one time thing that is all.”

 

“Do you still call it a one time thing if you did it several times in a row?”

 

Stiles scowls swooping for his shoe only for Peter to give a growl his hand flying out to grasp Stiles’s outstretched wrist pulling him towards him and throwing Stiles’ shoe towards the door. Stiles tumbles into Peter’s lap his body pressing into Peter’s very hard and obvious arousal. Stiles swallows at the feeling trying to distract himself from the way it shoots heat up his spine and get out of Peter’s grip but that man pulls Stiles close other hand grasping his elbow and Stiles has to hold on to Peter’s forearms for balance. “You really want to leave this?”

 

Stiles makes a noise of revulsion. “You’re disgusting.”  

 

Peter smirks eyes lingering on Stiles’s lips their faces an inch apart. “Sticks and stones Stiles, besides I’ve heard much filthier things come out that mouth.”

 

Without warning Peter pulls Stiles to him forcing his mouth on his ignoring Stiles as he tries to use his strength to push Peter back but his arms are slow and sluggish, aching from holding on not pushing away. “Stop,” he tries as Peter bites at his chin, his lips traveling along his jaw, his arm wrapped around his waist trying to grind Stiles against him.

 

“Make me,” he retorts, short and immature sounding and Stiles feels his strength begining to wain and he find his hand griping at Peter’s hair pushing his lips back to his, feeling out every inch of his mouth, sucking on his tongue.

 

“No,” Stiles whines suddenly realising, he needs to go, school, his dad, Scott they are probably all wondering where he is and he needs to go home first for an hour long shower and scrub till his skin is raw and every trace and smell of this mistake is gone and forgotten. “I need to—“

 

“Why?” Peter says hushed licking along the sensitive skin of Stiles’s bite mark that has him jerking, hips thrusting forward with a gasp as Peter groans quietly at the friction. “We are above society’s rules you and I, supernatural causes why should we live by rules that don’t apply to us.”

 

The way he says it is so enticing and Stiles momentarily forgets about school because staying here and lazing the day away sounds so tempting. Stiles wraps his arms around Peter’s neck as he pulls him towards him, kissing till they’re both breathless. Peter turns manoeuvring so that Stiles is under him rolling his hips as they continue to lock lips. “I knew it,” Peter groans into Stiles’ neck, “knew you’d give it up, makes you hot being held down by a beast—“

 

At hearing the words Stiles suddenly comes to his senses shoving Peter hard in the chest freeing him from the man’s grip in surprise as Stiles scrambles to his feet. “What the hell?” Stiles shrieks, of course this is Peter Hale he’s sick, disgusting excuse for a person, who just loves getting under people’s skin.

 

“Oh come on,” Peter laughs “it gets you hot.”

 

“Shut up.” Stiles snaps wiping the back of his hand roughly over his mouth in an attempt to get rid of the taste.  

 

Peter sighs exasperated, “You wonder why you haven’t shacked up with any non-werewolves yet because you like the thrill just like when you fight. You’d never be happy with someone you need to hold yourself back for hence the only other creature in the world that can take your beating.”

 

Stiles’s mouth drops open. “You make me sound like some sort of animal.”

 

Peter smirks still not making a move to cover up his still very aroused self and Stiles can’t bring himself to look directly at him. “Now there’s a thought.”

 

“Oh my god, I can’t even,” Stiles cries, violently wiping the back of his hand across his mouth again several time to get rid of the still lingering taste, he literally can’t bring himself to answer that. He goes over to grab his denim jacket pulling it on roughly. “For you’re information the last non-human I was with was because I loved him and you,” Stiles spits then pauses for a moment like he’s going to opt out. “You’re just _convenient_.”

 

Peter’s smirk slackens and he looks like he’s given up on the chance for getting Stiles in for another round because he stands up sharply pulling on his jeans as Stiles looks away. “So that’s what convenience feels like,” Peter muses as he does up his flies, “felt a lot like pent up frustration to me.”

 

Stiles still doesn’t look him in the eye. Peter chuckles, “are you telling me you never sought out Derek after an intense hunt just to get that little release?”

 

“You know for his uncle it’s really creepy how interested you are in his sex life.” 

 

“Come on Stiles,” Peter says approaching him “you think he’s having fun being all slow and sweet to his teacher girlfriend? You don’t think he misses taking what he wants from someone who can bite back just as hard, if not harder, I bet he’s never had it so good as you.” Peter smirks – and Stiles realises he’s leaning against the same wall Peter had him against last night – hand pressed above his head leaning in close with a smirk. “Derek is a beast just like the rest of us. And you Stiles you’re the boy who fights those beasts.” Pressing even further closer so lips are close to Stiles’s forehead. “But deep down you’re just as addicted to them.”

 

Stiles shoves his shoulder barging past.

 

“So how are we going to do this?” Peter asks behind him, “you turn up whenever you feel like it or should we make some sort of rotation.”

 

Stiles rounds on him. “First this is never happening again so get it into your thick skull.” He snaps, “Second if you tell anyone I _swear_ to god I will kill you.”

 

Peter gives a filthy smirk, “no need for that I’ll have you screaming to god again soon enough.”

 

Stiles cocks his fist back his hand punches Peter extra hard in the face then turns on his heels, wrenching the door open and slamming it shut so it shakes.

 

 

_

 

 

Stiles doesn’t make it to school that day, after spending near to an hour in the shower using the three most potent shower gels known to man so as to hide any incriminating evidence. He hates how it sounds like he’s done something wrong but the truth is he has but there’s no use standing around feeling sorry for himself.

 

He does float through the rest of the day though convincing his dad when he comes home of not feeling well with his unusual quiet demeanour. He sneaks out of the window around ten he turns up twenty minutes later at the deserted graveyard dragging a bag full of weapon all sorts.

 

He comes across a grave, soil still fresh; no grass has grown here yet. He dumps the heavy looking bag of weapons at his feet, rummaging through, pursing his lips debating whether he should do some sword work or just stick to a good old fashion stake.

 

He looks up just in time to see the grave, the soil is starting to crumble clearly there is something trying to claw it’s way to the surface. Stiles starts to notice the pale hands creeping from the earth, a dirty male face twisted with fangs and yellow eyes takes a gasp of breath he doesn’t need, his thirst zoning in on Stiles.

 

There’s a sudden flash in his mind, like déjà vu and very different almost pencil thin Stiles is there with his back to him, grasping a stake like it’s a life line while Deaton looks on. _“It’s all about power”_ , Deaton had told him _“it doesn’t matter how much training you’ve had or what weapons you’re armed with, he’s got it, superhuman strength, speed, agility. He’s got the power to consume you.”_

 

 _“So I’m meant to accept I’m weak?”_ Stiles had said suddenly fierce like he’s trying his best to reject the idea.

 

 _“I didn’t say that.”_ Deaton had replied calmly. _“Know thy enemy, if you don’t accept the power he has then you’re dead because of your own stupidity.”_

 

The vampire has now fully crawled out of the dirt, old tattered funeral suit and bloody knuckles from punching through his own coffin _._ Stiles starts as Deaton’s voice rings in his head once more. _“Don’t wait for him to get comfy.”_

 

Stiles – the fifteen year old, brand new slayer – would have glanced up unsure like he was looking for more prompting. But this Stiles gets right in, kicks the vampire firmly in the face, it’s a good hard kick and the vamp doesn’t see it coming rolling onto his back and jumping to his feet. Stiles dances out of his reach keeping his feet good and balanced, his weight centred. Once upon a time it would have been textbook, his movements always perfect and if they weren’t he’d correct them instantly but Stiles learnt pretty quick that he couldn’t afford that kind of thing but now all Stiles’ fighting feels natural it only took him the better part of a year but now he just knows what to do.

 

 _“You fight with what you have,”_ Deaton’s voice still rings in his mind as Stiles blocks a particularly vicious punch that shatters his whole frame and has him biting back a noise. _“You won’t always have the luxury of choosing, remember everything can be a potential weapon.”_

The next punch that Stiles goes for the vamp intercepts him; twisting him round gripping him round the neck with a hold Stiles can’t escape. As the vampire bears down on his neck, Stiles realises that he really needs to cut the bullshit and accept the real reason he’s been distracted as of late. 

 

He slams down on his feet that were a couple inches off the ground grunting with the effort of flipping the vamp (less than gracefully) over. The vampire is snarling while Stiles grabs onto the stake he had stuffed in the back of his jeans. The vamp is ready to pounce but Stiles just grabs him by the neck, forcing him to bend his knees to come down to Stiles’ height.

 

The vamp gurgles slightly from the pressure Stiles is putting on his vocal chords.

 

The vampire manages to choke feebly in protest as Stiles grips tight on his stake in position thrusting it into his heart.

 

In a burst of dust and ash Stiles gives a sigh.

 

“Very well executed.” Says a voice behind him and Stiles gives a frustrated sigh. He chooses not to turn and face his problems and just ignore them and maybe they’ll go away. More specifically Peter, the very annoying and ever present Peter.

 

“What no kiss hello?” Peter drawls when Stiles completely ignores him grabbing his bag and moving deeper into the graveyard.

 

“Go home Peter.” Stiles snaps but the man takes no mind, just catches up till he’s walking at Stiles’ side.  They don’t have to walk far till they come upon three vamps going for the strength in numbers plan.

 

“Mind if I stick around for the show,” Peter says close to Stiles’ ear and he can’t help but look round at the man, their faces inches apart and Stiles’s eyes flicker down to where Peter’s lips are unconsciously. “Suit yourself.” Stiles whispers not realizing how low his voice as got as he drops his bag and moves away.

 

He approaches the three vamps not stopping in his pace when they become alerted to his presence pretty quickly but Stiles isn’t here to be stealthy. The first swipe and Stiles dodges easily bending his back to avoid the blow, not bothering to grab the vampire’s arm as he lazily pulls it back, shifting out of the way when he attempts to punch at Stiles’ shoulder. Stiles grabs the vamps wrist twisting it towards him in a painful angle as he kicks the second when it approaches. Some part of him can still hear Deaton’s voice and feel Peter’s eyes on him from the sidelines. _“Don’t over think it, don’t bother wasting time correcting yourself because when you make the real mistake it will be too late.”_

He pulls the first’s arm hard enough for it to come out of the socket, blocking when the vamp brings his other arm down in an attempt to break Stiles’ hold. Stiles kicks him squarely in the chest the force throwing him back till his head hits a gravestone. _“It only takes one.”_ Deaton had said and Stiles shakes his head his attention back to the snarling third vampire, he punches landing his goal, twisting round for another and the vamp intercepts his punch pulling him towards it. Stiles uses this momentum to flip, twisting his arm so when he’s on his feet again he can flip the overbalanced vamp onto it’s back. He grips the stake giving a hard elbow jab to the face of the first thrusting the stake into it’s heart. From the sidelines, leaning against a tomb, arms crossed, Peter smirks, “one down.” 

 

It’s almost like a game one that Stiles can feel himself getting sucked into and though he hates to admit it he likes the thrill he gets knowing Peter is watching, right on time the second on comes at Stiles and he distracts it with a too far left punch, bringing an axe kick firmly down on its head.

 

 _“When you’re fighting it shouldn’t be what’s my next move.”_ Deaton’s voice says and Stiles punctuates it with a sidekick throwing number two back; he turns his attention to number three. _“Every move feels natural, like you know yourself. You’re calm, controlled, centred. You feel like you’re built for this, like it could go on and on.”_ Now, right now he feels controlled but he feels like something is slipping away as Peter watches him.

 

Number three manages to get a punch in throwing Stiles onto his back, and Peter seems to give a mock complement to the vamp and Stiles momentarily looks at the werewolf, “whose side are you on anyway?” Before he’s kicking up to his feet in a second in slayer stance. 

 

Stiles runs towards the vamp, it is obviously not expecting this but it holds it’s ground. Stiles jumps doing a mini leap frog like motion so his legs are wrapped around the vamps shoulders. The vamp is not expecting this of course begins to fall back and Stiles’s twists so they turn. Stiles prepares to land on his stomach flipping the vampire over his body so it’s the one sprawled on the grass. Stiles lands on his hands and knees gripping the stake as he turns sharply to the vamp still sprawled on the grass he thrusts the stake into it.

 

“Very impressive,” Peter says regarding Stiles with a naked hunger that Stiles can’t help but meet not getting up from where he’s crouching. He blinks out of the trance and is back on his feet again. “Why are you here?”

 

“Was in the neighbourhood.”

 

Stiles shakes his head in disbelief, “yeah right.”

 

Peter gives a scoff, rolling his eyes in the well-known Hale family fashion. “Contrary to what you may think slayer but you’re not the centre of my universe.”

 

Stiles attempts to splutter out a come back but Peter isn’t looking at him but over his shoulder he nudges his head to where he’s looking. “One of your friends is back for another round.”

 

Stiles turns in time to see the final vamp is on its feet still a bit out of it, Stiles makes an impatient noise, he spins the stake in his hand like a miniature baton or like a gunslinger in the old western movies his dad loves. He catches it in his palm, his eyes meeting Peter’s briefly. A second later he’s throwing the stake straight for the vampire behind him. It flies true, embedding itself in the vamps heart and then it’s dust.

 

Peter at least has enough sense to look sort of awe-struck but Stiles is already grabbing his bag, because he already knows how awesome he is and he certainly doesn’t need Peter’s reassurance of that fact. “Look this goes without saying but what happened between us – it was a glitch, okay. A mistake, one that I don’t plan on repeating.”

 

“Alright.” Peter says but he’s still got that smug look on his face.

 

“No I mean it,” Stiles says with more conviction, “That – I’m disgusted with himself, what happened,” he pauses not knowing quite what to say “that may be how you get off, but I don’t.” His voice trails off.

 

Peter raises his eyebrows amusement written all over his face. “Could have fooled me.”  

 

“I mean it.” Stiles snaps at him.

 

“Look,” Peter says voice gentle but not in a kind way, more in a condescending manner. “It’s understandable someone like you liking it a bit rough.”

 

Stiles shakes his head, rough was an understatement, it was more like primal, animalistic, degrading, even perverse. “What do you mean?” Stiles asks though he hates to ask it.

 

Peter takes it in his stride and Stiles suddenly feels very small. “You’ve been at this for what almost two years now?” Stiles unconsciously nods his head “Well it was bound to rub off on you sometime.”

 

Stiles opens his mouth, not knowing quite what to say to that it is like his brain has frozen, he can’t think of a reply. He just stares at Peter, and something in that moment reminds him of the man twisted by death, eyes glowing red, face sharp and monstrous. “I’m not like you.”     

 

Peter looks at him, cocking his head to the side like he’s analysing that fact. “Sure you’re not.” Peter says tone purposely dripping with sarcasm; lips curl up into a smirk. He leaves Stiles alone, in the graveyard with that thought. And Stiles can’t help but let it fester, he closes his eyes trying to seek out Deaton’s voice and his words of wisdom only to find they are no where to be found.  

 

 

-

 

 

A lot can change in a few weeks if anyone knows that it’s Stiles. You can go from mad at someone to best buds; people can go from alive to dead and vice versa. All those things happened in a course of a few weeks. Stiles almost lost two people and though it felt like choosing between his watcher and his friend it was clear whom he should save. Though he was still mad at Deaton he could not leave the man who had trained him, saved his life and become like a second father to him die, he couldn’t and though it felt like betraying Boyd and the pack he couldn’t loose Deaton no matter how pissed off he was at the man.

 

As for Boyd’s death they all took it hard but they had no time to mourn just like they had Erica but Stiles knows when this is all over that they will honour them properly. Derek is taking it hard from what Scott told him and as much as Stiles wants to go to him especially after what happened to Cora but he knows he can’t that’s not his place in Derek’s life anymore besides he’s got Stephenie Meyer playing comforter. 

 

Stiles is an adult in supernatural circumstances he can rise above it. That doesn’t however stop him from taking out his frustrations out on other people and with the Darach continuing with its sacrifices Stiles is quite cranky. 

 

Chris Argent chooses a bad time to come calling and when Stiles comes to answer the door he’s tempted to slam it in his face, which is the least violent scenario he can come up with. Instead he goes for the diplomatic solution leaning against the door arms crossed in a manner which he knows full well looks as intimidating as hell. “I’d let you in,” Stiles says snarkily letting Chris hover on the porch, “but you don’t know if I’ll knock you unconscious and torture you in my basement.”      

 

Chris swallows uneasily but doesn’t give in to pressure. “I had nothing to do with that.”

 

“No, you just hung around making diabolical plans when you knew full well that your psychotic father was trying to drown me.” And maybe he’s just a little angry for his friends, Boyd and Erica to.

 

Chris’s eyes flicker away and Stiles can read on his face that he’s having sudden regrets coming here but he immediately shakes them off. “I’m not here to ask for forgiveness.” Chris says oddly stern like a father should, in fact if Stiles didn’t know any better the man looked slightly agitated by something.

 

“Then why are you here?” Stiles challenges.

 

Unlike Derek, Chris shows no shame in asking for assistance. “I’ve been tracking the darach for the past few weeks.” He tells Stiles.

 

Stiles eyes widen and he glances back to the hall, his dad is somewhere in the kitchen but Stiles isn’t going to take anymore chances in wearing his father’s thinning patience with more stories of werewolves and kanimas. All he can do now is stay here and protect him. He steps out into the porch shutting the front door closed behind him.

 

“And when were you going to tell us about this little fact?” Stiles hisses still keeping his voice low in case their old neighbour Mrs Mackenzie is returning from her late night dog walk and gives Stiles the stink eye for speaking above a whisper in public.

 

“I figured out of everyone you know what it’s like to work alone.”

 

Stiles inwardly flinches and doesn’t take well to the statement mostly because Chris knows full well what he means by it. “You’re out of your depth then.”

 

“Hardly,” Chris snaps eyes flashing slightly looking down on Stiles “I’ve been doing this far longer than you have son.”

Stiles doesn’t let the statement wound his pride. “Why ask for my help then?”  

 

Chris’s pale blue eyes zero in on Stiles, it’s the look of a warrior and a father, Stiles can understand that Chris has his reasons for doing this and not just the save people’s lives drivel, he has people or more specifically a person he needs to protect and Stiles is sure Allison sees it the same way, if there’s one thing Stiles has learnt about Argents is their loyalty makes them fearless. Yet Stiles feels a kinship to Chris because they are both people that have the power to stop this and both of them would always choose to do so no matter the consequences.

 

“I know where the darach will make its next move and when, you can either help me or not.” Chris says voice gruff, swallowing around his words.

 

“Okay,” Stiles says slowly “you can count me in as long as there’s no guns pointing at me this time.”

 

Chris nods a quick jerk before starting off towards his car looking back when he realizes that Stiles hasn’t moved from the porch where he’s biting his lip. If he goes he leaves his dad alone and vulnerable but if he goes with Chris and finally puts this to an end then everybody is safe and they can deal with the Alpha pack. “Just give me two minutes.”

 

Stiles hurries back into the house shoving on his denim jacket, rummaging through a few drawers in the kitchen finding his dad’s old military knife, sliding it into the back of his belt using his jacket to hide it from view because the last thing he needs it to be stopped for illegal weapon possession.

 

“Going out?” A voice says behind him and Stiles starts slamming the drawer sharply shut. His dad doesn’t look particularly amused leaning against the island. He looks tired right down to his very core.

 

“Just for a bit.” Stiles answers shuffling awkwardly.

 

The unimpressed look on his father’s face certainly reaches a whole new level of unimpressed parent looks. “After just spending most of the afternoon telling me about vampires, werewolves and lizard people you’re just going out with your friends?”  

 

“We can talk about my psychotic delusions later, okay.”

 

His dad looks at him sternly. “You think this is funny?”

 

“No, I really don’t.” Stiles answers walking into the hall his dad follows his long angry strides easily keeping up with Stiles.   

 

“You are not leaving this house.” His dad says his voice full of promises of grounding till Stiles’s thirtieth birthday if he survives to it. 

 

“I have to go dad, okay.” Stiles says not heeding the warning but when he dad doesn’t budge Stiles snaps impatiently. “These things that are happening only I can stop them.”

 

His dad looks angry and bewildered all rolled into one and he can see it written all over his face, _you’re just a kid my son I won’t let you do this._ “This isn’t your responsibility Stiles.” His dad says in his Sheriff voice.

 

“I’m the slayer.” Stiles says by way of explanation ready to go to the door. “This is my calling.” His dad looks at him like he has no idea what a slayer is even though Stiles has spent most of the day trying to explain it to him and he let’s the information sink in for a few seconds before he’s shaking his head in denial. 

 

“I don’t know what that means,” his father snaps. “What I do know is you are my son, and you’ll stop this—”

 

“This _is_ what I am.” Stiles tries reaching for the door handle, a hand comes up on his shoulder twisting him round so he’s back facing his dad.

 

“Stiles enough.” His dad hisses.

 

Stiles shakes off his dad’s hold with little effort, he doesn’t have time for this. “I need to go.”

 

“You are not going anywhere till you explain yourself.” His dad finally shouts, the intensity of it humming through Stiles, his father’s face red and he looks so goddamn angry, he’s finally had it with the lies and avoidance but he can’t seem to accept the truth.

 

It’s what breaks Stiles in the end, like breaking the damn inside his mind and suddenly all the feelings that have been going round in his head for the last two years suddenly come flooding through. “I don’t have an explanation that you’ll like, dad. All I can tell you is I didn’t choose this it chose me. It’s dangerous and hard and I’ve never felt so alone in my life. Most of the time I don’t know if I’ll survive the day but I fight these things because it’s what I have to do to keep people safe and it scares me because sometimes I don’t feel human anymore.”

 

It’s a weight being lifted finally speaking the truth, what he most fears but when he looks into his dad’s wide, angry, disbelieving eyes he gets no relief. 

 

“This is insane!” His father shouts grabbing Stiles by the arms in an attempt to pull him back into the hall away from the door. Stiles forgets himself in the heat of the moment shoving his dad away till he’s banging into the stair banister. His dad looks at him with wide eyes, jaw clenched. 

 

Stiles wants to stay to apologise and sit down to explain properly to his dad but he doesn’t have the time. Opening the door Stiles looks at him one last time speaking before he’s pulling the door behind him closed. “Mom would’ve believed me.”   

 

 

-

 

 

It’s a scary thing looking into the Argent’s car trunk; it’s full of various weapons most are medieval arms with an ultra modern spin such as the bow and arrow and crossbow. The combat knives range from small to large, blades differ in thickness and curve depending on balance and Stiles is pretty sure he sees a pair of _Sai._ The guns mostly range from pistols, shotguns, rifles and sniper rifles, there’s also the occasional grenade and even knuckle-dusters. He’s fairly stocked up like ready for a Zombie apocalypse stocked up.     

 

Stiles hasn’t been around Deaton that much since their fall-out and rekindled relationship, so his awestruck expression is because he’s not been around this many weapons in a while only having a chest full of them back home, but these are so shiny and cool. Not as awesome as his Scythe, which Deaton still needs to return to him, Stiles is sort of having withdrawl from it.

 

Chris is already loading his twin pistols, stuffing extra magazines in his belt. “You,” he says nodding towards a particularly vicious looking shot gun as he cocks one of his pistols checking the sight before sliding it behind his back, sitting it in his trousers like something out of a James Bond movie.

 

“I’m good.” Stiles says trying to play it cool but really he’s all kinds of lame, “guns aren’t really my thing.”

 

Chris cocks his other pistol checking that there’s a bullet in the chamber, then clicks on the safety before sliding it in with the other. “I don’t plan on letting Allison handle one either.”

 

“Hypocritical much.” Stiles eyes suddenly catch a beautiful looking crossbow not as impressive as Vera but damn well close. He practically strokes the thing when he has it in his hands feeling a bit like Gollum. “Point ten,” Chris says at his side “just had her re-stringed good strong weapon most accurate longbow I’ve got and there’s a lot of power in her.” He comments. “But you need quite a bit of strength when drawing the string back but I doubt that will be an issue for you.”

 

“Sweet.” Stiles says holding the weapon by the sling before draping it over his shoulder so it sits diagonally across his body like a shoulder bag. “But if I meet Sauron head-on,” he says leaning forward to grab something else from the trunk “I’m going to be doing it the old-fashioned way.” He says slipping on the four-fingered brass knuckle dusters and feeling all kinds of badass.     

 

“So what’s the plan?” Stiles says as they approach the derelict building.

 

Chris is checking the perimeter as he addresses Stiles. “I’ll come at it from the front guns a blazing, it should scare it to the back entrance and if I get a hit all the better.” His voice lowers as they approach the entrance and Stiles glances up to see the rafters intertwining above them. “You hit it high, cut it off if you can but if it makes a run for it give chase. You sure as hell have a better chance of catching it than I do.”

 

“Sounds like a plan.” Stiles says as they both make their way through the dark. “But if there’s a chance that this person is still alive I’m taking it.”

 

Chris nods not even bothering to try and argue. Stiles leaves him on the ground scaling the short wall so he’s up on a ledge. He uses his slayer enhances agility to gain height to swing from rafter to rafter – he always use to love the monkey bars as a kid – till he finds a plank wide enough pulling himself up till he finds balance on the thick wooden plank.

 

He meanders his way along the zig-zag like planks; every step is careful and quiet. Stiles has the crossbow aimed now at the ground below his vision can see more in the dark then a human’s his hearing is also enhanced. He’s only going to take his shot if he’s completely certain he’s going to hit something.

 

He jumps down to a lower rafter at the very back of the building, landing firmly and quietly on his feet allowing the darkness to swallow him up. He crouches down crossbow aimed; from here he has a clear view of the back exit.

 

In that moment he hears the sound of scuffling and hushed voices he wouldn’t have been able to catch without his slayer hearing. The next thing he knows he sees a shadow move near the centre of the room. He catches sight of a cloaked figure and hears a badly muffled gurgling sound then Chris is shouting then sound of gunshots ring out and Stiles moves. It’s a pretty long drop but Stiles has no fear, he lands in a crouch dodging slightly behind cover as bullets zoom past him. Damn, he thinks he should have moved further toward the door then Chris’s fire wouldn’t be cutting him off.

 

Just as Chris is reloading his guns Stiles catches sight of a pale badly scarred face. The thing looks like Voldemort with a nose and bad dental work. He glances to see the victim and it doesn’t take a genius to work out he’s already dead.  

 

He turns back to Chris surprised to see Isaac and Allison are also there.

 

“What was that?” Chris demands angrily.

 

“It’s fucking fast.” Stiles fires back.

 

He can see it darting out of the exit in a flurry of black cloak. Chris gives him a sharp nod. “Go.”

 

Stiles takes off in a run, sprint would be more accurate his arms punching the air so as to keep in time with his fast strides, with every second step the crossbow bounds off his upper leg coming back to hit him again but he ignores it. His pace is fast enough to keep up with the shadow but there’s something mystical about the way it moves, like it’s beginning to blur and will vanish at any moment.

 

Stiles has always enjoyed this aspect about slaying, the chase. He loves running even if his feet start aching from pounding against hard or uneven ground, his lungs beginning to burn, his throat drying up, sides cramping and his eyes watering. He loves the feeling of the wind in his hair, either pushing him on or forcing him to fight against it.

 

Right now he doesn’t need to think, this is all he knows just like when he fights.

 

He’s not sure how long he goes on for but eventually he looses sight of the darach, but it doesn’t matter because by that time he finds himself in the school car park, heart thumping from the sprint. It’s then as he watches the teachers’ file in for the recital that he gets it. Teachers, _philosophers_ not guardians, he breathes a sigh of relief for his dad at least for now. Before slipping into the shadows making his way round the back.   

 

The school is mostly open for tonight and yeah Stiles may break the handle of the back door to get in and it makes him feel a bit Clarke Kent like. There’s a reason why school should not be ventured at night mostly because they are fucking creepy, all those dark long corridors and empty gaping classrooms. Plus people can easily sneak up on you.    

 

He could search for ages and still be too late the darach needs another teacher after all.

 

Deaton had told him once it had been right at the start of training, he’d told Stiles that he should be able to sense any supernatural goings on. “What like River Tam or something?” Stiles had said and Deaton of course had no knowledge of pop culture classics beyond Fight Club.

 

“As the slayer you can sense supernatural forces, not just vampires but anything with supernatural influence. If you learn to hewn your senses you should be able to pick them from a crowd easily.”

 

“Dude,” Stiles had said awe-struck “that’s awesome.”

 

Well, it’s worth a shot it’s not like Stiles has any other bright ideas. He closes his eyes waiting scrunching them when nothing happens. Sighing in frustration where is his Deaton obi wan when he needs him. He supposes he’s going to have to do the whole forgive and forget thing sometime soon, but he can let the man simmer for a little longer, god knows he deserves it.

 

 _Clear your mind_ Deaton’s helpful voice sounds in some distant memory _let the world fall away and focus on the core of your being._

 

Stiles let’s himself sink into a hypnotic state it’s like a cloud of nothingness that falls over him till there’s only him searching through the smoke. That’s when he hits it, something cold, dead and ugly, the dark shadow twists and coils like a snake.

 

Stiles eyes snap open. 

 

It’s not like a Harry Potter moment or magic, he just knows like instinct it’s the same knowledge he holds when he automatically blocks a punch without thinking. He just knows.

 

He starts off at a run for an empty classroom down the hall, when he gets to the door and tries the handle he can’t get through. That’s when he’s met with a sight that practically makes his heart stop.

 

Lydia is taped to a chair her neck swollen red, she’s barely conscious a thin rope wrapped around her neck. Scott is on the floor currently coughing up blood. And his dad is there laying on the ground a knife in his chest but he still has a gun pointed at the perpetrator. Which is none other than Jennifer Blake, oh boy has she given Stiles another billion reasons to hate her in three seconds.

 

Stiles doesn’t bother attempting to kick the door down this way is faster. He backs up till he’s pressed against the lockers then he runs right at the door. He throws himself forward during mid run gaining just enough height to push himself forward at level with the window situated on the classroom door. His strength and the force of throwing himself forward are enough to crash through the window and his body just small enough to fit crossbow and all. He bends at the right angle so he lands and rolls across the desk shoved in front of the door grabbing the crossbow as he finally stops in a crouch.

 

His crash through the glass has certainly catches everyone’s attention and he shoots off an arrow at Jennifer’s thigh. The power behind the shot is enough for the arrow to go right through and Jennifer no longer in her human form, now a scarred creature like something out of _Alien_ gives a snarl gripping his dad tight.

 

There isn’t enough time and before Stiles can make another move the window the darach has his father pressed against shatters and Stiles has to shield his eyes against the shards of glass. When he looks up again both Jennifer and his dad are gone.   

 

He stares at the man shaped hole, the glass crumbling under his feet. Scott is at his side lips red with blood, eyes an impossible gold then his face is moulding back to something more human. “Stiles,” he says voice husky and cracked.

 

“Don’t.” Stiles says sharply he can’t hear this right now, he can deal with the onslaught of emotions, numb, denial and devastation later for now he needs to keep a grip on that anger calm it and sooth it so it doesn’t turn into rage, he needs to keep his head in the game because he won’t be able to help his dad if he’s like that.

 

 _Sometimes we need to rise above things we think we can’t._ He remembers Deaton telling him. Stiles takes a deep breath counting back from ten, fist clenching and he feels the cool brass of the knuckle-dusters. His fist unclenches and he meets Scott’s eyes.

 

“Call an ambulance.” Stiles says as he pulls the straps off Lydia his fingers pressing against her neck. She winces the wound tender but she’s conscious at least, muttering slightly under her breath. “Already done.” Scott answers.

 

“That bitch.” Lydia whispers licking dry lips and Stiles would smile but he really doesn’t feel like it.

 

“Someone’s coming for you.” Stiles tells her softly.

 

“Go,” she tells him. “Find your dad and kill her for me.”

 

Stiles nods, him and Scott sneak out just as they hear people making their way down the corridor. Scott easily keeps up with Stiles’s strides and he can tell that he’s not the only one that’s royally pissed off. “Where are we going?” Scott asks as they make their way to his bike. It looks like it’s going to start to rain but Stiles couldn’t care less about getting wet.

 

“Derek’s.”

 

Scott frowns not getting it at first. “It’s where I’d go if I were her.”

 

Scott gives a quick jerk of the head throwing Stiles his helmet. He kicks up the bike stand, the bike roars to life underneath him. Stiles straddles the bike gripping him tight.

 

There’s a clap of thunder and they’re off.

 

 

-

 

 

The rubber of the handle feels oddly heavy as Stiles grips it tight the thing is slung over his shoulder. Scott had mentioned something about a baseball bat Stiles had just smirked before moving to the other side of the hall and punching a hole in the emergency casing grabbing the axe inside. He found something much better.

 

The four of them standing in an elevator suddenly reminds Stiles of a similar scene in Spiderman two and he’d smile at the reference if Jennifer wasn’t shooting him her frustrated bitch face.

 

Stiles would be quite happy to chop her head off and Scott next to him looks like he’d be up for lending a hand. Derek just grips her elbow tight so she has no chance of escape, Stiles wanders when Derek will go all catatonic when it finally sinks in what he just had sex with, Stiles gags in sympathy.       

 

Scott and Stiles had luckily made it to Derek’s before Jennifer and Stiles knew it had been a big ask but they’d told Derek to trust them, he’d of course been sceptical but at the sight of the strong termination and coldness in Stiles and a scattering of mistletoe it hadn’t taken much more to persuade Derek.

 

But Jennifer had already had a back-up plan formulated using Cora against them so she could be protected and Stiles knew the only way to save Cora and his dad was to agree. Jennifer had smirked up at them all smug arrogance of a 1950s movie villain. Though he’d stopped Derek from strangling her nothing had stopped Stiles from punching that smug grin off her face and knocking her out cold. Her shattered cheekbone – an injury thanks to his strength and knuckle-dusters – has already healed thanks to the power she’d took from killing innocent people.

 

Then came the alpha wolves and more blackmail from Jennifer and they’re stuck in a fucking hospital. It was going to be a long night.

 

“Watch her.” Derek fires at Stiles heading out with Peter and Scott in an attempt to fend off the twins and get Cora. Stiles just nods sharply not bothering to argue that he’s a better bet against the twins than Peter but since the man offered to torture Jennifer it probably isn’t a good idea to leave them alone.

 

“So you’re the slayer,” Jennifer says and her voice sounds different now that she no longer has to keep up the persona, bolder, darker and almost seductive.

 

Stiles doesn’t answer just stays perched on the table, legs crossed and axe on his lap ready for wielding. “I must say I’m envious.” Jennifer continues unlike him she isn’t sitting she just saunters at a slow pace, arms crossed. “I use to always be told stories about the slayer when I was a little girl.”

 

“I don’t give a crap about your bullshit life story.” Stiles says nonchalantly making his way to the doors Derek, Peter and Scott had disappeared through, looking through the glass to keep watch.

 

Jennifer chuckle sounds across the other side of the room and Stiles is glad she’s keeping her distance. “It was a dream of mine to be called but,” Stiles turns to see her mocking gaze travel down him “instead I find myself asking why some _little boy_ has been called in the place of the generations of woman that could’ve been?”

 

“Have you ever thought that being a psychotic bitch who’s going around killing innocent people doesn’t exactly fit the slayer job description?” Stiles bites turning his attention back to the window.

 

“Trying to get under my skin that way won’t work Stiles.” She says mockingly and Stiles turns to see her leaning against the desk. She looks too comfortable in this setting like she’s planned this all out and it’s going her way. “All I have to do is wait.”

 

“For what?” Stiles asks giving into the bait.

 

“You.” Jennifer replies easily. Stiles just looks confused and she huffs exasperated throwing up her arms muttering something about kids.

 

“You don’t get it do you? In the end you’re going to come to me. You will because it’s the only way you’ll save your friends. Once I have you out of the way no one can stop me from getting to Deucalion.”

 

The same words ring through his head but this time they have a southern twang to them and the black bloodied face of a homicidal priest to put to them. “Caleb,” Stiles says and Jennifer just looks smug no confusion in her eyes at hearing the name. “He was sent by you.”

 

Jennifer shrugs, “He was a distraction while I got my other sacrifices, he was loyal and eager to put another slayer to his name and you fell for it predictably.” She sighs wistfully, “it really was a shame, I thought he’d kill you.”   

 

She’d sent Caleb after him, loaned some of her power to him to make him a more of a difficult target. Yet when she speaks she doesn’t mention the scythe, Stiles can only hope she doesn’t know about it.    

 

“Tell me Stiles,” Jennifer addresses him, “Do you know the definition of a sacrifice?” 

 

Stiles ignores her, instead turning to face so they are head-on to each other, he cocks his head. “Do you know what the slayer’s definition of sacrifice is?”

 

Jennifer doesn’t answer but she doesn’t make any move to stop him from speaking. “I thought it was self-sacrifice,” Stiles tells her rolling his eyes at his own assumption. “I guess I was right in a way but it’s not my life I have to give up, it’s my companionship. I need to live to keep on fighting and I do it alone.” He gives an easy smile. “And if you hadn’t been so set on isolating me from everyone I would have never discovered that.”

 

Stiles gives her a hard long look keeping his voice level. “So you can dangle their lives in front of me all you want I still won’t agree to any deal.”

 

Jennifer raises an eyebrow put-off for the first time tonight. “You’d let them die to stop me?”

 

Stiles breathes out it’s hard but he does, this admission there’s no coming back from it and though it hurts not to do anything, not to ride in and be the hero but instead to play the role of a warrior he knows the only way this battle can be won is by doing that, being the role Deaton had always wanted him to rise up and be. “If I had to, yes.”

 

“You really are a slayer.” Jennifer scoffs, “it’s almost respectable.”

 

“I am the slayer,” Stiles tells her “that’s why I’m going to warn you, Silvia Plath.”

 

“A warning, from you?” Jennifer laughs in his face, sharply inhaling with a menacing look on her face. “How rich.”

 

Stiles continues, “it doesn’t matter where you go, how much power you have, how many people you kill. I will stop you. Because you’ve kidnapped my father screwed my boyfriend and all round pissed me off.”

 

Jennifer approaches him and Stiles is frustrated by the fact she has a little more height than him thanks to her heals. “Well you know what they say an angry slayer is a careless slayer.”

 

“You haven’t just made me angry, you’ve made me fearless to the point I don’t care it I live or die. That is when a slayer is at their most dangerous.” He doesn’t feel like she’s looking down on him anymore. “That’s when you’re really fucked, Glinda.”

 

If Jennifer feels intimidated she covers it well. “If you think years of planning is going to be stopped by some teenager you’re wrong.”

 

Stiles doesn’t have the chance to reply before Derek comes bursting through the door with an unconscious Cora in his arms a worse for ware Scott and Peter behind them. Not till Aiden and Ethan combined are lumber in with all the force to rip a human in two like a piece of paper behind them. Stiles is ready to go, one fist clenched, elbow tucked in resting close to his chest the other fist clenched tight and resting at his hip diagonally from the other, in a ready position before he throws himself at the twins.       

 

 

-

 

 

There are stones and grass sticking out at odd angles; the damp leaves of the beginning of autumn mash together into a mucky like substance. There’s the occasional crunch of debris with every footfall, which in turn seems to echo through the empty forest. It’s an eerie quietness that hangs over the forest right from the treetops down to the roots. Not peep from a bird, the rustle of a scurrying mouse, the scampering of a deer.

 

Stiles continues to walk through this forest, the thick trees slowly getting thinner and fewer, the light blocked by the intertwining branches begins to shine through. He thinks he can see the sun lighting up an opening in the forest.

 

It doesn’t take him long to get there the forest moving past in a blur of red and brown till he reaches an opening. The wet, soggy leaves and awkward stones are no longer beneath his feet and this time when he takes a step forward he is met with hard, coarse sand. He pauses, hesitant at the feel of this new terrain before allowing his foot to join the other. The trees are few now and they are leafless and bleak, the scatterings of leaves have dried and shrivelled up from lack of water. This may as well be a desert.    

 

It’s a feeling like déjà vu that strikes him suddenly but he has no particular memory of this place in fact it looks like another piece of dirt to him but then he sees it, how on earth could he have missed it.

 

The oak tree unlike the others stands tall, it’s branches seem to go on and on intertwining with each other in a mass of knots. The bark unlike the others trees which is brittle and dried out, is hard and rough, a rich maroon colour. Its roots descend into the soil thick and massive till they disappear beneath the ground.

 

Stiles takes another step forward feeling the squelch of wetness between his toes he looks down at his feet. He’s confused to see them completely bare, his pale skin covered in a layer of mud and dried dirt. The soles of his feet throb and he frowns at the sight of blood seeping from them, drying in the sand till it turns brown and flaky.

 

His attention turns back to the tree, approaching it, one slow step after the other. There’s no particular draw to it but for some reason Stiles knows he needs to go close.

 

A breeze rustles through the leaves making the branches of the tree sway green flashing with sunny gold. The thin twig like end of a branch closest to Stiles shudders with the wind and he cocks his head at it curiously.

 

His hand is clenched in a fist at his side and at the feel of soft silk blanketing his fingernails from digging into his palm he glances down to see a deep red coloured ribbon. It’s small no longer than a few inches, the material only a few centimetres wide.  

 

Without any real thought he ties the ribbon to the branch of the tree, letting the ribbon pass through his fingertips.

 

The banging sound of a door rattling in the wind has his eyes scanning to the source only to see a door just hidden by a mound behind the tree but still in plain sight, swinging open, revealing a dark, bleak cellar.

 

Seeing not much choice Stiles goes to it making his way down the few rickety old steps to the dark space. The roots are thicker down here, and continue further into the ground. The rest of the surroundings seem to be a run down room but Stiles pays it no attention.

 

It’s the symbol in the middle of the roots that have his attention, the five intertwining circles they seem familiar but Stiles can’t place where.

 

The creaking of old floorboards has Stiles looking round into the darkness. A figure descends from the shadows; they part and let this dark shape pass through till they’re bathed in scattering rays of sunlight from the open doors.

 

Stiles blinks at seeing her, the brown strips of cloth wrapped round her body her face like a skull. She looks at him oddly like she can’t quite comprehend his very being. She crouches low her back curled, the matted knots of her dark hair shielding her face. She circles round him till she comes to his front.

 

She looks at him for a moment, her posture strengthening till she’s standing tall her chest puffed out. Suddenly she gives a primal snarl her foot launching out and kicking into Stiles’s stomach the force alone is enough to send him flying knocking through the space left by the doors till he’s outside once more and lying on the dirt.

 

She scurries towards him on all fours like Tarzan grabbing on to his ankle when he tries to get up. Adrenaline and instinct kick in and Stiles kicks her in the face, strength coursing through him. The girl gives a roar like a battle cry, throwing herself down at Stiles hands clasped and raised coming down at such force ready to battler him into the dirt. Stiles rolls out of the way just as her fists hit the sand, he’s on his feet kicking her hard in the neck as she rises also. She ducks with the next high kick, backhanding Stiles hard till he’s thrown back onto the dirt.

 

She’s stronger than Stiles; he can feel it in the pulsing of his jaw from her strike. Then she’s on him, her hands around his neck the deadly pressure enough to make him choke. _“Kill.”_  She hisses the word at him but it’s doesn’t sound like a threat more of a command.

 

 It’s as if there is a sudden flash through his mind like he’s been struck by lightening and the vision before him suddenly changes from day to night and instead of seeing this primal creature above him he sees himself.

 

His face is pale and lifeless, skin stretched too much over bone, and his eyes slightly sunken. When he looks in those eyes he can see nothing but endless black it’s like being sucked into an abyss of darkness. His expression is lax and completely blank, no readable emotion.

 

He’d imagine anger, raw animalistic ferocity but this indifference is just so un-human.

 

Stiles can feel his wind pipe being crushed under the other Stiles’ grip, he lies there stupidly for a few seconds just allowing this thing to choke him while he looks up in utter shock. He coughs and splutters in the hold finally getting a grip of himself, he pulls the other him close, hand gripping the back of his neck while his thumbs dig hard into closed eyelids and successfully flipping them over.

 

Instead it’s no longer himself he’s straddling it’s the girl again growling at him furiously, shoving Stiles hard.

 

Stiles flips back onto his feet, blocking a rough punch that shatters his frame with the force but he kicks her, hooking the lower part of his leg round so it catches her on her shoulder throwing her to the side.

 

She comes back at him with a sloppy punch that he blocks easily punching her hard right in the face, catching her again with an elbow jab. The third punch he throws with such force it has her neck snapping round with the pressure. She turns back to him and Stiles waits fists raised if she makes a move.

 

Her lip is cut right in the centre, blood bleeding, dripping slightly down her chin and she wipes it away baring her yellow teeth which had obviously never been introduced to a toothbrush and some toothpaste.

 

“Why are you doing this?” Stiles bites out surprised that he can actually talk before it felt like his voice was closed off like his throat wouldn’t let any sound get past. She doesn’t answer just cocks her head regarding him curiously. “Seriously,” Stiles says hands dropping to his side in annoyance “your going to give me the silent treatment now? I know you understand English.”

 

Still she doesn’t say anything like she’s waiting for something, waiting for him. “Not that I haven’t down right hated you dropping into my dream uninvited but I’ve got a life to be getting on with, so get out of my head.” He demands.

 

She snarls all riled up. “No life,” she growls in broken English, the words almost to hard to pronounce on her tongue. “Only the kill, only death.”

 

Jesus, where are the simple days when he use to have steamy sex dreams about Derek. “Nah, that doesn’t fly with me.” Stiles starts forward as the girl gives one final roar thrusting her palm out hitting him in the very centre of the chest and it sends him flying.

 

Stiles lands hard on his back, coughing out because it’s suddenly hard to breathe, the colours around him seem to exploding into a mixture of shades and there’s a high ringing in his ears, his heart beating wildly out of his chest. There’s no thought only confusion, but Stiles has no time to comprehend before there’s bright blinding white light that takes over his vision and Stiles knows no more.

 

-

 

 

 The sky is a dark blue when Stiles wakes, the streetlamps still glowing orange and a light breeze batters at his window. It’s the early hours of the morning according to his phone but his mind just isn’t up from translating the numbers into information so Stiles just buries his face deeper in the pillow with a whine.

 

The unnerving quietness of the house even at this hour reminds him how alone he is and Stiles scrunches he eyes shut tight trying to banish those thoughts. There’s nothing he can do now – Deaton would have told him it to – he needs to get rest, reenergize and come up with a plan. Fumbling with the zipper of his red hoodie in an effort to keep out the cold, he pulls up the hood as well not remembering opening the window in the first place. 

 

“You know,” he says to his room voice slightly muffled by his pillow, his desk in particular listens with rapt attention. “If you want to be all Edward Cullen maybe you shouldn’t breathe so hard.”

 

He raises his head, his hood falling over his eyes and he pushes it back slightly glaring at the darkest corner of his room nearest to the window and drawers. Peter moves out of the shadows arms crossed and for once he’s not smug but instead looks miffed, he’s obviously still healing from the punch up with the twins and coming down from his adrenaline shot.    

 

Stiles throws the covers off himself he’s still in the clothes from earlier. “What are you doing here?” Stiles asks very clearly putting into his tone how much he doesn’t want Peter here.

 

Peter shrugs his eyes dancing around his room, Stiles realises that this is the first time that the man’s seen it. “I wanted to see if you were alright.”

 

Stiles stares for a second marvelling at how stupid that sounds coming from Peter – no doubt he has an alterior motive and Stiles really doesn’t want him to stick around so he can find out. “I’m fine you can show yourself out now.” He tries impatiently.

 

Peter turns back to Stiles’s wall; it’s decorated with various pictures you can plainly tell the human ones from the werewolves because no blinding flash accompanies them or the people in the photograph that haven’t shut their eyes looking like a total spaz, namely Scott. Stiles huffs getting up from his bed bare feet padding across the carpet towards Peter. “Man you can’t take a hint can you?”

 

Peter’s eyes are currently fixed on Stiles’s growing photo collection, it had been Lydia’s idea to start the whole thing and when the others had been round they’d just snap a pic and stuck it up there. Everyone’s there is even Erica and Stiles looks fondly at her smirking face eyes flashing blinding white. There’s one picture in the low far corner of a grumpy looking Derek eyes shut impatiently his expression clearly stating how much he wants to crush the camera in his hand, next to him Stiles’s is grinning so hard it looks like his face might crack. He’d meant to take it down but yeah.

 

Peter finally turns away from the collage back to Stiles with his trademark smirk and there’s the Peter Stiles loathes to know. “You took quite the beating last night.”

 

Stiles really hates his surly tone turning every statement into an innuendo. “Yeah well two combined alpha twins will do that to you.”

 

Peter’s gaze fires up, lips curling wider. “Yet you didn’t let up.” Something like admiration in his tone and Stiles just stops a ridiculous sound from passing his lips. 

 

He crosses his arms leaning his hip against the desk, the handle of his dad’s old military knife peeking out from under a sea of schoolbooks. “Why are you here Peter?”

 

“I told you, was seeing if you were alright.”

 

“Well you’re done with the seeing you can start on the leaving.”

 

Peter leans in and it makes heat bubble up like acid underneath Stiles’s skin but he doesn’t flinch from Peter’s gaze. “You were amazing, last night.”

 

“Seriously?” Stiles splutters at Peter’s attempt at flattery, then rolls his eyes when Peter’s intense gaze doesn’t let up Stiles is almost expecting some sort of innuendo spin as the per. “You’ve seen me fight before.” Has been on the receiving end of it more like.

 

Peter’s pale, thick fingers tug down on Stiles’s hoodie zip slowly, the noise loud in such a quiet setting. Stiles is tempted to reach for the knife and cut off his fingers, see how long it takes werewolves to grow back appendages, if at all. Peter doesn’t try anything else once the zip loosens. “Not like last night,” He shows a little teeth, “had the right motivation I suppose.”

 

“Don’t.” Stiles snaps full of promise of violence hating that Peter is implying that the emotions that came from his father’s abduction make him fight better.

 

Peter rolls his eyes fingers skimming through the papers on Stiles’ desk.

 

With his hoodie zipped down Stiles is starting to feel the cold but if he shuts the window he’s basically telling Peter he can stay. “You should be with Derek and Cora.” He says pushing his hood down, Peter doesn’t answer reading at one of Stiles’s American History books.

 

Stiles slams the thing closed just missing Peter’s fingers, the man looks back at Stiles sighing nosily and raising an eyebrow. “Is there anything that can be done for her?”

 

“There’s something.” Peter mutters eyes narrowing at Stiles like he’s realised something. 

 

“What’s that?” Stiles quizzes.

 

Peter doesn’t give him an answer instead changing the subject. “You got rid of the fed?”

 

Stiles tries not to think about how pissed off Scott’s dad looked well the asshole deserved it in Stiles’s mind, he should probably warn Scott about his dad’s presence in town. “It was easy, what did you mean—?”  

 

“Why so easy?” Peter asks the question half-heartedly as he starts to rummage through the things on Stiles’s desk again.  

 

Stiles throws his arms up giving a bitter laugh. “So you get the answers to your questions but I don’t to mine.”

 

“That’s right.” Peter mutters. Continuing to rustle through Stiles’ study notes for no reason but to annoy him and get a reaction, it works.  

 

“Will you stop that?” Stiles snaps punctuating by slamming his hand down on Peter’s moving away immediately when the heat from Peter’s hand sparks through his own.   

 

Peter huffs angrily, head spinning round to Stiles, the annoyance clear on his face obviously he’s very tired with all this. His eyes flicker catching something before swiping Stiles’s cheek, Stiles endures this only just holding back. Peter’s knuckles press against the lower part of his cheek where it meets his jaw, his thumb presenting an eyelash to Stiles’s eyes.

 

Stiles moves out of his grip, aggravation clear on his face and Peter just cocks his head, grasping Stiles jaw so he has to meet his eyes. “That’s not what you were saying at all last time we were together.” Stiles can’t help the flush of heat that goes up his spine, blossoming on his cheeks as he remembers vicious onslaught of pleasure and his nails dragging down Peter’s back and _moreyesplease,_ he’s tried to banish it from his mind along with all the other times. “I thought you said it would be a one time thing but I must say Stilinski this past week your body’s practically been screaming for a repeat performance.” Peter’s fingertips trail up his face, fiddling with his hair.

 

“Back off.” Stiles grounds out.

 

Peter smirks wider. “Your attitude has certainly changed from that night rubbing up against me like a shameless little—“

 

Stiles’ hand goes for the military knife buried under the books grabbing it and raising it high unsure if it’s for show or if he’s going to go through with it but Peter grabs his wrist before he can make that decision.

 

“Uh-uh, none of that.” Peter hums, gripping Stiles’s wrist tight and he’s sort of a bit stunned at the speed which Peter blocked the knife for someone who’s still regaining their powers.      

 

Peter leans in close his free hand winding round Stiles’s waist tilting him at a perfect angle. “Creatures of the night you and I, we need to stick together, in a manner of speaking” Peter bares his teeth in a sly grin, really pressing into Stiles now, enough so he can feel the hard outline of his cock against his thigh, it sends sparks right through Stiles, flashes of heat with it and Stiles can’t seen to string a thought together.  “Besides I’ve got some extra adrenaline to burn off.” Peter says voice low and huskily seductive enough to make the heat in Stiles’s groin grow.  

 

“Peter,” Stiles tries voice weak, his brain quickly fogging up till he can’t think as Peter presses in further nosing along his jaw, sniffing lightly at his neck.  “S-stop it.” Stiles tries again lost in a choke of breath when Peter starts to suck, his thigh sneaking between Stiles legs rubbing till he’s almost lost in pleasure.

 

Stiles can’t help but be reminded of earlier, of him and Cora in that ambulance as he brushes past Peter to go back and help Scott. Their noses’ brushing and Peter’s grip on his elbow as he looked into Stiles’s eyes every part of him trembling suddenly at that look on those pale blue eyes, _be careful_ Peter had said and he really had looked like he meant it.   

 

The thump of the knife falling from Stiles’s hand as he looses grip on it is the only thing that brings him back and he slaps Peter’s hands away. “I mean it.” Stiles growls slapping Peter’s chest when the man doesn’t let off.   

 

He backs away busying himself with whatever he can find, making his bed rubbing at the creases till they are gone before promptly sitting on it, curling up in the darkest corner. Peter follows approaching the bed and Stiles sticks his legs out blocking Peter from sitting beside him. Peter rolls his eyes instead stands looking down at Stiles his gaze turning inquisitive. “What were you dreaming about?”

 

Stiles opens his mouth to tell Peter to fuck off only to stop to try and back track to what he was dreaming about only to find nothing there, only flashes of sand, and the sound of words he can’t comprehend. He shakes it from his mind. “Wait, you were watching me sleep?”

 

Peter shrugs like it isn’t a big deal. “Only for a little while.”

 

“You are a massive creep.” Stiles tells him.

 

Peter is doing that thing again, that thing where he stares like he’s trying to drill two holes into Stiles’s head and it’s annoying the fuck out of Stiles.

 

He rolls his eyes curling his feet round himself.  “Just spit it out.”

 

Peter crosses his arms, gaze still dark and seductive but there’s no cruelness in his expression no sly malevolence in his smirk. “It’s nothing it’s just,” he stops his eyes on Stiles something almost gentle and soothing in his eyes and it has Stiles frowning, “watching you fight them I’ve never seen anything like that,” Stiles scoffs rolling his eyes and then Peter’s crouching down as if confronting a predator.  “No I mean it you went somewhere, to a place no one could follow. It’s like your whole world got smaller, till you only had that one thing inside you that makes your bones shake and your blood burn.”

 

He’s close enough to reach for Stiles’s hands lying loosely in his lap wrapping them both around his large warm ones. “I’m not talking about vengeance, that wasn’t it. It was like you’d found your centre.”

 

Peter’s voice is calm yet inquisitive. “What did you see?”

 

Stiles doesn’t know how to react, no one has ever described what he does that way, it sounds almost poetic. It feels like for once some one gets it. They’re no longer skimming the surface with their passing comments or judgement. Peter’s delving deep seeing something Stiles couldn’t.  “I-I.” He stutters with difficulty trying to wrap his head around it all.  

 

“I’ll tell you what I saw,” Peter tells him tone tender, filled with respect and awe.  “I saw strength. A little spark that’s been just begging to be released from its cage, it slipped by and you let it go. It was small but it was enough and I saw you burn with it. They never stood a chance. Kind of drives a guy crazy.”     

 

Stiles can only look blankly back, glancing down to where their hands are intertwined. “You are this blinding light of strength that no one can touch it’s hidden behind the bits and pieces you use to cover it up, if you let it shine once in a while, then you’d be unstoppable.”

 

Peter suddenly chuckles spare hand rubbing the back of his neck and he looks self-conscious, almost embarrassed. “God that sounds like a bad Take That lyric.”

 

Stiles just stares his gaze slightly vacant, he wants to go back, go back to the Peter that’s malicious and manipulative with his self-assured smirk, this has him very confused.  “Why are you saying all this?”

 

Peter laughs it’s more at himself than Stiles’s question. “Nothing, just gibberish coming back from the dead screwed up the old knocker.”

 

Stiles frowns “I’ll say.”

 

Peter looks up at Stiles clasping his hands tight like he thinks Stiles is going to slip away. His voice tender and an emotion Stiles really doesn’t want to decipher.

 

Peter leans in closer so he’s almost level with Stiles. “You’re all I think about you know.”

 

Stiles opens his mouth to interrupt because it’s not the first time Peter’s been affectionate towards him and it makes him feel uncomfortable, the sudden jump from Peter’s dark teasing, to this, is it another game? Peter continues to plough on in his speech.  “You’re in every dream, every damn thought, in every breath. I’m drowning in you, till it burns me.”

 

Stiles isn’t sure how he should react to this, if he’s meant to continue to stare blankly, throw his arms around Peter and express his joy at the man’s fucked up feelings or is he meant to feel repulsed, shove the man away and throw him out on his ass. But that’s just it he feels none of these things; in fact he feels a big fat zero, nothing he feels nothing. Aren’t you meant to feel something when some one says these things to you? You’re meant to feel love or repulsion even remorse and guilt at not returning that feeling but Stiles doesn’t feel at all.   

 

He craves, needs that feeling he gets when he’s with Peter, the self-loathing the disgust, the hurt and punishment so instead he kisses him, kisses him till he feels like he’s drowning pulling him close to he can feel the werewolf all around him. He pulls back not letting Peter go far, not meeting his eyes because he can’t.

“I d-don’t…want to be alone.”

 

Peter hushes him, caressing his cheek. “You’re not alone, you’ve got me.”

 

Stiles hates it, how it sounds, he hates this but above all he hates himself for giving into weakness time and time again. But guilt will come later all there is right now is pleasure as Peter licks and nibbles at Stiles’ jaw, while Stiles grips hard at his shoulder shoving them across the room till Peter’s against the wall, the foundations quiver and the whole room feeling like it’s shaking from an earthquake for a second but Stiles ignores it.  

 

Peter pulls back and Stiles instantly misses the too tight grip on his sides, the pain that comes with mails digging into flesh. “Come on this place is eating into you.”

 

Stiles let’s Peter drag him from his room, away from the too silent house, he supposes he’s right. He let’s Peter take him to his apartment, lets him strip everything away till Stiles is bare and vulnerable.

 

It’s the same as all the other times, Stiles is surprised the foundations of the building don’t come crumbling down around them. Peter has clearly given up on furbishing the place since every item ends up getting broken. It’s hardly Stiles’ fault, he gets into it a bit too much to really realise what he’s doing but that’s kind of the point.

 

The crashes of kitchen appliances and a lovely looking designer lamp fill the room with the clear sound of grunts and moans along with the slapping of skin and the sound of blows.

 

They end up underneath Peter’s huge Persian rug, the material is coarse and Stiles will no doubt have carpet rash on his lower back. It irritates the marks and scratches that Peter’s left behind, Stiles has left quite a few of his own that stick with the werewolf a bit longer than they should with his healing abilities.

 

It’s not till daylight is streaming through the windows that Peter finally rolls off of a dishevelled looking Stiles his hair sticking up in different directions. They’re both panting slightly, neither really wants to show how worn out they are but it’s clear that Peter has less stamina.

 

That doesn’t mean that Stiles isn’t put through his paces as well. He groans, his thigh muscles and the back of his neck are starting to ache and both his legs and arms feel like jelly. He pulls the rug up so it covers his chest to, Peter on the other hand leaves it (thankfully) covering everything below his waist but the rest bare, pillowing his arms behind his head with the usual pleased look on his face.

 

The apartment is in quite a state this time most of the major furniture seems to have been saved but it looks like Peter is going to have to invest in a new dinning table.     

 

The contemporary apartment is quite big the main room holds enough space for a kitchen, lounge and bedroom and then some; the bathroom is hidden down the hall near the entrance. The bed in the far corner near the large window still in the same vast room but cut off from the kitchen and lounge at the same time is completely untouched. The sheets still there without a single crease.

 

“We missed the bed again.” Stiles tells Peter with amusement, they can never get that part right.  

 

Peter glances over neck stretching awkwardly to follow Stiles’ gaze. “Well at least there’s one piece of furniture we haven’t trashed.” He says with a breathy chuckle and Stiles follows sitting up slightly and leaning back on his elbows glancing around at the shambolic looking apartment.

 

“You’re not going to start billing me are you?”

 

Peter laughs turning on his side, his shoulder brushing Stiles there’s a long thin scratch slowly starting to heal along his collarbone, the blood drying into his skin. “I wasn’t planning to.”

 

Peter’s eyes dot about the more permanent damage and Stiles follows them, the holes in the wall of plaster the occasional ripped away floorboard, in the kitchen some of the tiles are cracked where they’ve been punched at. “But for one thing I can kiss my security deposit goodbye.”     

 

Stiles makes a noise of amusement, mock guilt in his tone as he speaks. “Maybe I got a little carried away.”    

 

Peter’s voice drops lower, huskier and it does things. “I noticed.” He shuffles closer stroking from Stiles’ shoulder down his upper arm and back leaving heated like shivers in his wake. “You were amazing.” He says it with the same admiration and darkness but there’s something more obscene about the words this time around.

 

“You weren’t so bad yourself.” Stiles replies hating that he enjoys the feeling of Peter’s slower more gentle touch.

 

Peter shakes his head. “Was nothing compared to you.”

 

Stiles starts to shift uncomfortably at the direction this conversation is heading in. “You should see yourself.” Peter continues eyes floating all over Stiles. “You fuck like you fight, I’ve never been with such an animal.”

 

Stiles starts, flinching from Peter’s touch. “I’m not an animal.” He says firmly yet defensively.

 

Peter just raises an eyebrow like he thinks Stiles is lying or something. “Then what does all this look like to you, a slow and sweet affair between Harry and Sally?” he says indicating the apartment and the many marks on his person and Stiles can’t help but look and think.

 

“The sooner you admit to yourself that you like a little beast in you the sooner you can get over your guilt complex.” He still stays in close and Stiles seems rooted to the spot as well. “Now shouldn’t you be racing out the door after giving me a fresh shiner like you always do.”

 

“I will.” Stiles argues defensively suddenly feeling very sheepish as his legs ignore all orders to fight or flight. “As soon as my legs start working.”

 

Peter rolls his eyes at the attempt at humour laying back down and closing his eyes while Stiles clears his throat glancing around for clothes which are scattered around the room, underwear would be a good start. 

 

“What is all this to you exactly?” Peter asks.

 

Stiles doesn’t answer straight away luckily his underwear are near by and he just needs to stick his leg out from underneath the rug in order to get them unlike Peter he isn’t terribly keen to show off his nakedness being in a lusty mind frame is completely different, but Peter seems to have no shame about any of that stuff.

 

“Well you’ve made it quite clear what your feelings are.” Stiles snaps.

 

“Right,” Peter snaps back “what about you, do you even like me?”

 

Stiles doesn’t answer because he doesn’t know and the thought scares him more than it should and Peter takes this in as he leans down to press a peck to Stiles’s bony shoulder his voice vibrating through Stiles as he speaks. “But you like what I do to you.”

 

Stiles doesn’t answer again just starts moving sluggishly, it’s daybreak and he can’t spend anymore time here, he’s late for school but he can still turn up an attempt to act normal and once he’s got that out the way he needs to get Scott back and round everyone up and they need to come up with a plan.

 

Peter stops him before he can move away. “What are another couple minutes going to change?”

 

Stiles should push Peter away, walk out now because this is the last thing he should be doing not with his best friends running off with a pack of psychotic werewolves, another psychotic druid on the loose and people his father amongst them missing, he doesn’t have time to be selfish, yet.

 

Peter reaches around somewhere and comes back holding a pair of handcuffs and Stiles just stares blankly having no idea how to compute this.

 

Peter gives a smirk; the silver metal handcuffs look cold. “Do you trust me?”

 

Stiles always knows the answer to this question, he can hate himself later but right now all he can do is get sucked back into Peter’s game answering the question softly: “Never.”

 

 

-

 

 

“You won’t get any sympathy from me.” Lydia greets him in the living room when he finally reaches home, the house is still oddly quiet something Stiles has always overlooked. Lydia looks well put together, beautiful as always but something seems to have fallen away Lydia looks more relaxed with herself than she has in a long time, it looks a lot like acceptance.

 

“What?” He asks quietly lost in his own thought a moment ago.

 

Lydia rolls her eyes, a thin trail of bruises still on her neck and Stiles can’t help but be wracked with guilt by it slightly. “I thought you’d be at school.” Then she looks at Stiles suddenly her eyes wracking down him her eyes suddenly shine with understanding.

 

Stiles looks down to and realises he’s still wearing the same clothes from the night before, this will not look good.

 

“Relax,” Lydia drawls her lips pursed “I’ve done the walk of shame a fair few times.”

 

Stiles doesn’t answer just sits down next to her on the sofa accepting the cup of coffee she hands him, just holding it and letting it warm his hands. Stiles stares down at the novelty _Star Wars_ mug his dad had got him one Christmas. His dad who is currently god knows where while Stiles had been having sex with a former werewolf murderer and not so former werewolf maniac.

 

“I know what it’s like to want a distraction, after Jackson left,” she pauses looking at Stiles’s blank expression. “Or I mean is it serious? Because that’s okay to, a new love in your life though it’s not exactly the best timing—”

 

The coffee mugs slips through Stiles’s fingers slayer reactions or no.

 

Lydia’s eyes widen, “Stiles?” She says carefully.

 

“Yeah,” Stiles says suddenly finding his voice “it’s definitely not that.”  

 

It’s not the first time Stiles has asked himself what the hell he’s doing because he has no idea, he doesn’t want to think about it yet he’s here and all he can do is think about it. Lydia appears back at his side and Stiles had no idea that she’d left, a cloth in hand, collecting the sharp shattered pieces of the mug.

 

Stiles just continues to stare at his hands. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

 

Lydia waits patiently for Stiles to continue or to not continue but she knows Stiles well enough to know that once he’s started talking he’s unlikely to stop.    

 

“Why do I keep going back to him?” Stiles asks himself.

 

“Him?” Lydia asks softly at his side but Stiles can’t bring himself to look at her right now.

 

“I didn’t mean to hurt anyone.” Stiles says defensively and Lydia’s eyebrows raise.  

 

“It’s okay to be a little selfish sometimes. And if you love him,” She stops when Stiles flinches and the very idea, Lydia continues carefully “but if you don’t that’s okay to.”

 

Stiles takes a deep breath, exhaling shakily. This is different it’s not a physical force like a demon he can fight; it feels so alien to him. He feels trapped and the only option of escape would no doubt end up with his friends learning of the truth and he can’t stand to see the look on their faces if they found out. 

 

“Peter,” and the name is out of Stiles mouth before he can stop it, “I think, maybe he has feelings for me.” Even saying it out loud sounds weird.

 

“Peter?” Lydia says after a moment and Stiles can tell she’s stiffened up in shock. Out of everyone Lydia has the most right to hate him after what Peter did to her. “Oh.” She says softly looking shaken up slightly.

 

“Please don’t hate me.” The words burst out of Stiles as he looks at Lydia pleadingly, eyes suddenly glassy.  “I don’t think I can take it.”

 

Lydia watches him closely, her gaze fierce and firm. “I _don’t_ hate you Stiles.”

 

Stiles wants to bring himself to believe her but everything in his head is scrambled and all he can feel is his growing self-loathing and guilt suddenly coming back up from where he pushed it down. 

 

Lydia still regards him gently. “Was it just this once or…?”

 

Stiles doesn’t – can’t – answer but Lydia knows the answer from the silence and how Stiles posture stays tense, breaking eye contact with her, his gaze shifty.

 

“You won’t tell anyone?” Stiles asks and he’s back to pleading with her. “If Scott or Allison or god Derek knew—“

 

Lydia puts one of her hands on his to silence him, his voice near hysterical. “I won’t tell anyone I promise.” Her voice strong but it’s her fierce and honest gaze that convinces him telling him he’s not dealing with the Lydia Martin he passed in the hall one years ago who didn’t know existed, this is Lydia his friend.  

 

“Why can’t I stop?”

 

Lydia shakes her head, shrugging like she doesn’t know the answer but wants to find it out for herself. “Because sometimes it’s nice to be loved.”

 

Stiles feels disgusted with how true the statement suddenly is. “So I’m just using him, how is that right?” Something horrible suddenly dons on him. “How does that make me any better than him?”

 

Lydia answers but with obvious difficulty. “You’re going through a really hard time.”

 

“No, that’s not an excuse.” And Stiles knows he’s right about this, for the first time in a while he’s right about something, that what he’s doing is wrong. “The things he said to me, I’m just like him.”

 

“No Stiles you’re not.” Lydia snaps out like she’s mad and Stiles winces at the tone, it’s what he expected anger, rage, disgust, hatred.  

 

Lydia takes a deep breath pulling him close in a friendly embrace. “I swear you’re not.”  

 

When she hugs him it feels like forgiveness but it also feels like something Stiles doesn’t deserve. Yet it feels like Lydia is a beacon of strength and in her embrace Stiles feels the same strength pass to him, it tells him to keep going.

 

 

-

 

 

Deaton’s back room is dark; the only light comes from the dim table lamp glowing orange. It allows Stiles is see what he’s doing, also lighting up the doorway. The only sound is the sharp swipe of metal against metal as Stiles sharpens the three-foot long _El Cid_ Spanish sword.

 

Deaton leans against the doorway watching Stiles carefully like he thinks the young slayer is going to do something stupid. But Stiles waits just like he said he would wait for the right moment.

 

“This doesn’t feel right.” He tells Deaton but not pausing in his sharping of the sword.

 

Deaton doesn’t move from his spot just watches his charge prepare for battle. It wasn’t a moment ago that he was holding Scott down in a tub of ice and Isaac was Allison him and Lydia watching on. Stiles couldn’t make the same sacrifice for his father as Allison and Scott had done for their parents, if Stiles had been ‘dead’ for even a second that could set off another slayer being called. Neither Stiles or Deaton are sure how the whole calling thing works since it’s only happened with the definite death of the previous slayer but they can’t risk the possibility of Stiles loosing his powers to another.

 

It kills him that he can’t do this for his dad and it frustrates him to sit here and wait doing nothing.

 

“You should fight Jennifer on your own terms not hers.”

 

He still doesn’t like the idea of leaving Derek and Lydia alone with the suddenly trustworthy Alpha twins to draw her out along with his best friend who he only got back for a few hours then returning him to the demon wolf with the presumptuous name.  

 

He can’t think for his father either, it was hard enough not leaving with Allison and Isaac, he needs to keep his mind here he can’t let them down like that.

 

“Mortal weapons won’t kill her.” Deaton says quietly from his spot but it just ends in pissing Stiles off more because he knows this.

 

“Do you have a better idea?” He snaps at his watcher maybe a little too coldly.  

 

Deaton cocks his head, moving towards Stiles and he realises that the man has a gym bag on his shoulder he sets it down with a clunk and Stiles stares at the shiny instantly recognisable red axe blade, the same one Caleb had been guarding no doubt under Jennifer’s orders, the same scythe that Jennifer had no idea that Stiles had got his hands on. “She was keeping it hidden for a reason.”

 

Stiles eyes widen in an _I got it_ kind of way. “And you said yourself that it was mystical.”

 

He grabs the bag stuffing the sword inside, he’s ready for battle. If Jennifer’s down a guardian and he prays that it is true and his dad is still alive that means she’ll be looking for someone else and there’s only one other person Stiles can think of that fits the guardian criteria.

 

“Where are you going?” Deaton asks with a frown.

 

Stiles grabs on to his jeep keys. “Where do you think?”

 

Deaton doesn’t bother attempting to stop Stiles physically but Deaton still has a mouth and a brain so uses his skills of persuasion instead. “We agreed to wait for Scott’s call.”

 

“No time.”  

 

Deaton nearly reaches out to grab Stiles’s arm a motion that would not be welcome. “Slow down.” He says soothingly but it does nothing to calm the beast.

 

 Stiles pulls the scythe from the bag waving it in Deaton’s face he has to admit it feels good to have it back again, his strength growing and his confidence with it. “She doesn’t know I have this, at least I’ve got the element of surprise.”

 

“It’s the only thing you have.”

 

“It’s a start.” Stiles says quietly moving past Deaton only to have his arm grabbed, Deaton releases his hold instantly, he may be a touch taller and signifcantly larger in body mass but he knows an stubborn Stiles when he sees one.    

 

“You don’t know where to find her.”  

 

“No but I know some one who can.” He really hates the idea but he has no alternative.  

 

Deaton tries talking sense back into Stiles but his mind is already made up. “You don’t think you’re acting a little rashly.” 

 

“Right now none of that matters.” His watcher still doesn’t look convinced and maybe it’s because really what Stiles is trying to do is convince himself that all this drama that’s been happening to him doesn’t matter right now, only this and he has to put it behind and he has to fight. “Deaton I have to do this.” This seems to be his winning point because Deaton nods his head understanding without Stiles having to explain why, it makes him think he can forgive Deaton; it makes him think he can trust him again.

 

Deaton sighs but after a pause he nods and Stiles thinks underneath the worry he sees something of the old proud mentor he once was to Stiles “I know it’s not exactly comforting but I am here for you.”

 

Stiles gives a small smile. “It’s more comforting than you think.” And the words ring true.

 

He clears his throat glancing round the room, he’s never been good with confrontation at least not with the non-demon kind that involve pointy things. “I guess we should talk, if I come back that is.”

 

Deaton boldly places a hand on Stiles’ shoulder giving it a squeeze. “ _When_ you come back Stiles.”

 

That’s the confidence and reassurance Stiles needs to let him know he can do this. Stiles doesn’t spend much longer there taking the jeep and driving through town, the wind picks up speed as he drives a crack of thunder which is odd since there are little clouds in the sky therefore a small chance of rain, there must be something supernatural a foot.

 

It doesn’t take Stiles long to get to his destination downtown and by that time the force of the wind is strong, blowing every direction, rattling windows and doors, howling loud through the deserted streets. Up high in the sky the moon is a shinning orange. Stiles makes it to the apartment in record time not stopping in his fast pace as he stomps down the hall not pausing when he encounters an obstacle in the form of a door, he kicks it open with a crash as it knocks against the wall.

 

Peter looks up sharply obviously he hadn’t smelt or heard Stiles coming but in a second a smirk appears on his face, taking in Stiles’ ‘all business’ demeanour. “Afternoon love, I’m surprised to see you back here so soon.”   

 

He swaggers his way towards Stiles with a cheeky grin on his face and Peter looks ready to slip out of his clothes. Stiles fist connects with his jaw in a backhanded punch, using Peter’s temporary disorientated state to grab his arm pinning him face first against a wall, holding his arm at an angle, Stiles’ other presses just below where Peter’s shoulder meets his neck right where his collar bone is located, it only takes ten pounds of weight for a normal person to break it, so for Stiles it will be as easy as snapping a twig.  

 

Peter grunts in pain and discomfort but nevertheless let’s out a husky almost manic chuckle. “You want to take the wheel this time, that’s fine by me slayer.”

 

Stiles twists the werewolf around easily to face him, gripping the material of his tee shirt to shove him back in place. “I don’t have time for your shit Peter.” He snaps menacingly. “Derek’s your Alpha, you’re going to track him for me.” Stiles knows he’ll find him with Jennifer.

 

He knows the connection between pack and Alpha should be enough especially with his skills and length of time Peter’s been a werewolf. Peter’s struggles under Stiles’s hold not getting any relief from the uncomfortable position he’s in. “Fresh out of werewolves?” Peter grunts out.

 

Stiles doesn’t hesitate in punching Peter in the nose as the man cries out, returning his grip to Peter’s tee. “Alright there’s no need to get cranky about it.”

 

Stiles pulls his fist back ready for another strike. “Wow,” Peter interrupts the oncoming blow and Stiles pauses. “You’re going to have to come up with a new plan sunshine, I’m afraid Derek’s been demoted.”

 

Stiles shoves Peter back against the wall the older man’s head coming into contact with the wall and he gives a grimace. “I can still find him but it’s going to have to be on foot. I can hardly get a clear scent in this weather going at the speeds of a car will only make it worse.” 

 

Stiles gives one final shove before letting the man go he gives Peter a moment to relax before he’s punching him again this time hard enough to split his lip.

 

“What was that for?” Peter snarls out.

 

Stiles doesn’t answer, “Let’s go.”

 

Peter doesn’t move in hurray just wipes blood from his lip, cradling his aching jaw. “Not so fast love, what makes you think I’m going to come on your little crusade?”

 

Stiles fingers curl as he fights down the urge to use Peter’s slightly crouched posture to kick him firmly in the face. “I was thinking you’d do something out of the goodness of your heart but I suppose you’d have to have a heart for that to work.”

 

“What you going to do, another death threat?” Peter asks with a click of the tongue, voice smooth and roguish. “Your threats are starting to sound a little on the empty side. Try again, love.”

 

“Stop calling me that.” Stiles hisses at the pet name.

 

Peter’s smirk is back on his face as he approaches Stiles but at least he still keeps a bit of his distance. “You didn’t seem to mind it last night.”

 

Stiles doesn’t let it get to him not giving Peter the pleasure of getting a reaction out of him, he knew this might happen, so he reaches into his back pocket waving a neat bundle of crisp dollar bills in front of the man’s face watching his mouth water, Peter is technically dead so has no official papers to hold a job and as far as Stiles knows no money was left to him in the Hale will. “Two hundred in cash you get it once you’ve done the deal.”

 

“Now that’s the currency I speak, well that and—”

 

“Save it.” Stiles barks.

 

When Stiles makes his way out of the apartment Peter follows which is good since Stiles was close to dragging him out by the ear. “I don’t get why you’re so shy now.”

 

The wind is whipping around them wildly as they get outside the moon now is slowly turning back to it’s white and Peter’s other senses return with it, they walk towards Stiles’s jeep but as he hears the man’s words he rounds on him anger clear in his expression. “Is this all a big joke to you? People are dying, my friends are fighting for their lives and as usual your are the furthest from harm as you can get.”    

 

Peter shrugs glancing around the dark streets with a nervous air, Stiles blames it on the extreme weather it’s making everyone jumpy. “I did my part.”

 

Stiles grabs his bag from the car, Peter’s gaze lingers on the sword handle that’s sticking out of one of the flaps. They manage to make it a while in silence, Peter’s seems to know his way but occasionally he has to stop and wait for the high winds to calm so he can pick the trail back up. 

 

“What did you mean about Derek?” Stiles finally asks because it’s sort of eating away at him.

 

Peter’s head turns sharply to the left and veers off while Stiles trails behind. “It’s like I said he’s no longer an Alpha, did it to save Cora.”

 

 _That idiot_ Stiles can’t help but think fondly through the shock of hearing the statement, he’s always so bloody self-sacrificing. “Derek giving up his alpha status to save his sister’s life, sounds like Derek to me.”

 

“Sure and you make it sound like some noble act.” Peter says as they make their way towards what looks like a shrouded warehouse of sorts. 

 

Stiles raises an eyebrow if he didn’t know better he’d think Peter was jealous. “I’m sure you were all too pleased to let him.” He means it in such a way as to wind Peter up but then he thinks about it for a minute. But Peter interrupts him before he can continue on that thought pattern.   

 

“Should be just round there.” Peter glances to the darkening sky to see the moon covered by complete darkness.  He turns back to Stiles. “My cash?”

 

A deal is a deal and trusts the handful of notes into Peter’s palm before grabbing his bag as he makes is way towards the warehouse. Peter glances up with a frown. “Still planning to go get yourself killed then?”

 

Stiles grips at the sword ready to pull it out of the bag, the scythe waits patiently for it’s turn. “Yes.”

 

Peter jumps in suddenly. “I don’t know why you do it,” a scoff to his voice.

 

Stiles doesn’t answer taking a step forward towards the warehouse. He isn’t expecting it, Peter grabs him by the arms his strength slowly returning now that the moon is beginning to shine once more pulling Stiles back till he’s shoved behind Peter, his bag falling with a clunk. “What the hell are you doing?” Stiles demands.

 

“I’d quite like to know why, before you walk to your death.” Peter says firmly.  

 

Stiles’ fists are automatically clenching. “Oh so now you care.”

 

“I didn’t say that, but come to think of it,”

 

Stiles makes a noise of disgust. “You’re pathetic.”

 

When Stiles tries to move past Peter he’s only shoved back again. “I don’t have time for this, get out of my way Peter.”

 

“No.” Peter says standing his ground.  

 

“I have to do this,” Stiles bites out with as much conviction as possible, “let me go.”

 

“I can’t,” Peter’s voice dies out and for a second it’s like Stiles is seeing beyond the psychopath, turned former crazy alpha, he sees a man who was a victim of circumstance but no less a monster than before. Yet Peter’s voice turns gentle and soothing and it has Stiles freezing for a moment forgetting momentarily about his objective. “ _I_ love you.”   

 

Stiles has that sudden feeling like he’s going to throw up and his cheeks puff out slightly, when he finally has control over his vocal cords all he can squeak out is an “oh my god.”

 

“Okay,” Stiles says not looking at Peter, certainly not registering how much closer the man’s coming towards attempting to get Stiles’ eyes to meet his, “I can’t deal with this right now.”

 

He’s halfway towards the warehouse, pleased that Peter isn’t following him when he turns back, to see the man’s pale eyes still looking at him. Stiles grips the sword in his hand tight, “and to answer your question I do this, because I’m fucking awesome at it.”  

 

 

.

 

 

For what feels like the millionth time Stiles is slammed into the wall, more bruises forming on his bruises, it’s like Jennifer figures he’s a piñata and the more she pummels him the more likely she is to get candy. She always has a manic grin on her face like she’s enjoying it; she may be out of mojo after her party trick with Deucalion but it turns out Scott and Derek had underestimated how fast she could jump back strength wise and even with Scott the new crowned Alpha she still had strength that exceeded his own.

 

Enter Stiles the vampire slayer, but he’s not really having much more luck with it. Still he’s better than Scott who’s currently coughing up most of the blood in his body along with a ribcage that may as well be crumbling to bits and Derek who barely has enough strength to keep his eyes open let alone jam his collarbone back in place which is currently sticking out of his skin gruesomely.       

 

“I’m disappointed Stiles.” Jennifer says nonchalantly as she shoves Stiles against a post, grabbing him and pulling him down before kneeing him in the stomach hard enough to make him wretch and feel like he’s going to vomit then backing handing him with a punch as Stiles bites his lip turning back to her sharply. “I was promised a real fight.”  

 

“Did you really think it would be that easy Scott?” Jennifer calls to a groaning Scott curling in on himself attempting to snap out of the pain and help but failing miserably.  

 

“You may be an Alpha now but it takes years of training to perfect your skill and I’ve had years to think out every possibility and planned for it.”

 

Stiles moves kicking Jennifer in the side and swing an arm back for a punch, she intercepts it easily, grabbing his other arm which comes up to defend himself. She gives an evil smile as Stiles tries to fight against her strength but that only succeeds in Jennifer forcing his arms down into an uncomfortable position and he gives out a cry with exertion.  

 

“What are you going to do now,” Jennifer mocks “pop culture reference me to death?”

 

Stiles thrusts his head forward, head-butting Jennifer hard in the face relishing in her look of shock as she presses a hand to her face to make sure it’s still perfect. Stiles uses her vain distraction to kick her in the stomach making her stumble back slightly but not as much as he would have liked. Delivering punch after punch, finally thrusting a fist up to her chin.

 

Her hand comes out grabbing at his throat getting a tight grip as Stiles grabs on to her hold and she gives a smirk grabbing onto his upper arm and throwing him across the room. He hits the floor on his bad side, which is all over his body really it doesn’t matter on which part he lands it still hurts, till he rolls hitting the opposite wall. But he gets up watching as Jennifer advances towards him. There is a glint of light catching metal and Stiles is reaching for it when his fingers come into contact with his discarded sword from earlier. It’s not much but it’s enough and Jennifer may have her strength but Stiles knows thanks to Derek’s little parlour trick Jennifer’s healing powers are non-existent but if he really wants to make sure this bitch is dead he’s got to get to his bag, to the scythe which of course is at the opposite side of the room with Jennifer in his path.       

 

Stiles is on his feet gripping his sword hilt hard. “I was going to start on the whole running you through with a sword thing.” He advances swiping the sword horizontally across as Jennifer jumps back, swiping at her left side, so she moves to the right and he’s able to kick hard hitting her ribs. She catches his hand when he raises the sword over his head planning to bring the blade down on top of her, throwing him onto his back.

 

She’s toying with him now and that’s no good he needs her angry. “Sounds fun, almost as fun as screwing your boyfriend.”

 

Okay that Stiles won’t stand for, that makes him angrier than the punning thing but instead he laughs bitterly in her face. “Well it’s not like you could take him full throttle.”

 

That does the trick with a scowl she’s coming at him, dancing away from the blade when Stiles swipes it clumsily across, she’s fast and knows just when to dodge the jabs and swipes, the next has her ducking as Stiles aims to take off her head, the next is an attempt at sticking the blade in her side but Jennifer turns out of the way twirling gracefully and this time when Stiles pulls his arm back for another try she grabs hold of him mid jab using his momentum to cause him to lose balance throwing him to the floor.

 

She gives him a fairly vicious kick to the face grunting in satisfaction. Stiles fights through the pain raising to his feet pulling his arm back, she once again grabs hold of his wrist, her fist connecting with his jaw then coming at him again at a different yet still as painful angle. The angle of the next punch is a bit awkward so gives Stiles enough time to deliver a firm and powerful kick to Jennifer’s abdomen knocking her away.       

 

Stiles does a run and jump raising the sword high above his head in hopes of chopping her right down the middle but Jennifer once again gets a strong hold on Stiles knocking him out of the way with a strong kick, his back now against the wall. “You really are a disappointment.” She says a nasty smirk on her face.

 

Stiles rises to his feet deadly slow, grip hard on his sword no witty come back, no more talk he doesn’t even stick out his tongue which is honestly what he really feels like doing. But instead he waits, patiently for Jennifer to make her move.

 

And she does like he knew she would throwing herself at Stiles, he waits till the very last second, turning sharply out of the way, shoving at Jennifer’s shoulder so when she collides with the wall she’s facing him as he plunges the sword into her chest, her expression a perfect replica of that one Edvard Munch painting. 

 

Stiles would just love to sigh in relief, would just love to have a quick victory dance before going over to Scott and Derek finally go home and have a bubble bath and celebratory cup of coco with his dad and maybe sleep for the next gazillion years.    

 

Jennifer gives a gasp staring down at the blade that’s stuck in her. Stiles watches wide eyed as she grasps it pulling it out sharply giving a cry of pain. She looks at him momentarily out of breath so the healing process has taken something out of her, okay so maybe she’s not lost all her mojo then, Stiles hopes this is one of those one off chance things. “Nice shot but no dice.”

 

Stiles is on the defence as she twirls the sword in her hand, thrusting it forward, Stiles dances out of the way keeping his feet even, weight centred, she sweeps the weapon at Stiles’s legs and he’s forced to jump then she’s landing a kick right on his thigh his knees buckling as his legs give out from under him.

 

Jennifer’s satisfied smile is all the warning he gets and then she thrust his sword at him luckily Stiles twists his body to the side sharply avoiding the oncoming damage. He grabs onto where she holds the handle, fingernails digging into her skin his grip crushing down as she drops the sword overtaken by pain.

 

She manages to grip him by the labels of his denim jacket pulling him towards her sneering face. “You have all these superpowers,” She muses, “I wonder if you can fly?” She spits before throwing him back. The strength behind it has Stiles falling back, his back coming into contact with what feels like a plastered wall, but with such force he feels himself crash through it till he’s hitting the steel barrier of the warehouse, falling forward and flat on his face. He coughs out dust and he tastes copper blood in his mouth, spitting red on the floor.

 

He hears the clatter of metal as Jennifer picks the sword back up panting with exertion, sweating like a pig, there’s no doubt the healing she had to do has taken it’s toll on her as she staggers towards him, pressing a hand to his side Stiles attempts to stand but every part of his body is just screaming in pain, refusing any instruction. “Why do you even bother getting up, you’re on your own now Stiles.” Jennifer is close now right in front of him in fact, sword at her side armed and ready and Stiles tries not to flinch, he closes his eyes listening to the sounds around him, the far away noises of cars on the highway, the crackle of thunder the shakes of the earth, Scott and Derek’s breathing. He can hear Jennifer’s own panted breath the soft sing of the blade she holds, he can distantly hear the calling hum of the scythe and his own heart beats slow and sure. “No weapons, no friends, no hope, nothing, what’s left?”

 

He hears the rustle of Jennifer’s clothing as she moves, the way her breath catches, the brief hum of the sword as its thrust towards him.

 

Instinct takes over and Stiles’s hands seem to move of their own accord, mind quiet and his hands come up catching the blade as it drives forward, palms pressing together as if he’s praying, enough strength to stop the sword in it’s path. 

 

Stiles eyes snap open as he answers. _“Me.”_

 

He shoves the blade back till the handle hits Jennifer right in the face using her distracted state to kick her firmly in the stomach. Her arm slices down in a wild attempt to defend herself, Stiles shoves it out of the way delivering a powerful punch which has her staggering back. She wildly thrusts her fist forward now empty handed and Stiles arm comes up to block her jab, using his upper arm strength to shove it away, his foot slams down on her own foot.

 

Jennifer cries out, distracted by the pain her body curls down as Stiles’ fist thrusts up meeting with her chin, another reeling forward to meet her jaw with a sickening crunch. Just when Jennifer looks like she’s back on her feet, Stiles delivers a series of kicks mid air, right in her abdomen with nothing to fall back on she falls to the floor, face contorted in exhaustion and pain.

 

_“Stiles.”_

Stiles turns round sharply at the sound of his name being called to see Scott standing, but cradling his side still in pain, certainly in no shape to fight but that doesn’t matter because in his hand he grasps the scythe and Stiles doesn’t even need to nod his head before his best friend is throwing it to him.

 

From behind him, Stiles hears Jennifer give a battle cry, the sound of her feet beating the ground as she advances in one final attempt. The scythe gives a high hum as it sails through the air, Stiles catching it neatly in his hands before turning to Jennifer.   

 

Only Stiles would have been too late if she hadn’t been tackled to the ground by Derek, but the man is in just as bad condition as Scott and it isn’t hard for Jennifer to knee him in the stomach throwing him aside.

 

Stiles runs forward swing the scythe at Jennifer’s head making her duck but Stiles is faster, fast enough that he can sweep his leg knocking her over, Stiles gives the scythe one last theatrical twirl before he’s crouching next to Jennifer pressing the shiny red blade of his scythe to her neck, but not hard enough to draw blood.     

 

Jennifer just pants for a few moments, chest rising and falling rapidly. She glances down at the scythe then back up at Stiles. “How did you get that?”

 

“That doesn’t matter,” Stiles snaps, “what’s important is I’m holding a blade to your throat so listen carefully,” he can hear Scott approaching, Deucalion – hey he forgot that psycho was here to – also and then Derek shuffling till he’s finally leaning against the wall, brilliant blue eyes trained on the scene ready to make a move though he hardly can. “It’s not my job to determine what happens to you dead or alive, but if you come near me and mine again, I will kill you.”

 

“Understand?” Stiles all but growls, pressing the blade more firmly against her throat and Jennifer gives a jerk nod, hissing at the pain the movement brings. Stiles doesn’t move right away, let’s her hang a little before he eventually takes a step back giving a nod to Scott, “it’s your show now, buddy.”

 

Derek is still leaning against the wall when Stiles approaches, crouching down next to him, Derek’s eyes open at the clang of Stiles dropping his scythe, he looks exhausted but his lips curl up into a smile and _god_ Stiles has missed that smile. “Nice reflexes.” He comments.

 

Stiles can’t stop his own smile, “well I work out,” he shrugs. Unsure if he can at first he reaches out a hand placing it on Derek’s arm in comfort, Derek’s eyes still shine blue and Stiles can’t help but get a touch fond about it.

 

“What?” Derek asks obviously catching Stiles’s look and his heart seems to speed up.

 

“Nothing,” Stiles says, wrapping Derek’s arm round his shoulder before, his free hand presses into the man’s side as he helps him up, Derek gives a couple hisses of pain but he’s clearly happy to be on his feet. Stiles stoops down slightly, taking hold of the handle of his scythe.

 

He looks back up at Derek, to see the blue in his eyes begin to dim till they are green once more, a look on Derek’s face that Stiles hasn’t seen in a while maybe not at all, but he feels like he saw it once in a dream. “I just,” he finally admits “missed the blue.”   

 

 

-

 

 

The feeling starts as a sharp ice cold that pierces Stiles’s heart and consumes him with shock, his whole body and mind freezes up and all the while he’s just standing there blankly. Then comes denial, his rejection both vocal and mental. Stiles never gets around to the pleading part because Derek never lets him.

 

Derek who just stands there and not even really looking at Stiles while he packs his bags ready to leave from Stiles’ life potentially forever. Is there truly nothing left for Derek here now it’s only him and Cora, is that really how he feels.

 

 _I don’t want you to go,_ Stiles had said and Derek had swallowed with difficulty, still not looking at Stiles. Of course this must be hard for him, Stiles isn’t so far into anger yet to push that aside.

 

It’s only later that Derek really looks at Stiles, but not really, his eyes flickering away, slightly narrowed as if he’s looking towards the sun. _I’m not going to say goodbye,_ Derek had said and that had been what caught Stiles’s attention and when Derek went to say more, maybe to explain why but Stiles got it, putting his hand up to stop Derek from continuing because he couldn’t hear any more.

 

Stiles should go home, back to where his dad is safe and sound head still reeling from what had happened but there was acceptance in his father’s eyes, that’s where he should go to find comfort or even Scott, true alpha Scott, his best friend, his confider.

 

But he doesn’t go to them because that’s not what he wants; he doesn’t want the hugs, the hot cups of coco and the movie marathons, what he wants above all is for Derek to stay but that isn’t going to happen.

 

He doesn’t wander long he knows where he wants to go and it doesn’t take him long to get there as he walks through the night the darkness following him, closing around him so he’s almost invisible. He slams open the door to the apartment and there’s Peter, still in the clothes from last night even with a little blood on his shirt and Stiles doesn’t want to think about it, not if he put it there or if it was something else.

 

Peter looks like he’s just come back from somewhere and for moment he looks harried but that’s replaced with his usual nonchalant smugness. “Back for another pummelling I see,” he says taking in Stiles’s cool features. “Couldn’t get enough of it the last time?”

 

Stiles ignores Peter’s ramblings like he always does.

 

“That’s not why I’m here.” Stiles says tone cool and crisp.  

 

“Oh? Why have you come then?” Peter asks tone surly head slightly cocked as he comes in close like he knows already exactly why Stiles is here, like he knows that Stiles would come long before he made the decision. Stiles doesn’t reply at first, not as Peter comes in real close so that he can partly feel the heat radiating from his body, it draws Stiles in and makes him yearn, makes him want.        

 

Peter’s voice drops low and gentle. “What do you need?” He says it like he’s coaxing something out of him.

 

Stiles blinks, finally demanding what he wants voice soft but all emotion sucked out of it which is something Stiles has never been capable of before but maybe, just maybe there’s a little plea in it. “Tell me you love me.”

 

Peter’s brow twitches slightly as he frown his expression saying why does Stiles even have to ask. “I love you. You know I do.”

 

Stiles heart doesn’t stop or start beating rapidly, the world still turns and he knows it. “Tell me you want me.” Stiles continues and this time there is a plea for something, anything.

 

“I always want you.” Peter says voice fierce and in that moment he looks hopeful and Stiles wants to beat it back where it comes from grabbing hold of Peter and pulling him in close. It’s more of a bite than a kiss on his part, his hands pressing against Peter’s firm stomach underneath his shirt. But Peter just wraps Stiles up in his arms he doesn’t bite back like he normally does and Stiles unconsciously kisses him gentler, lighter and it hurts out of all the things that Peter’s done to him this hurts the most.     

 

Stiles breaks off let’s himself breathe for a moment. Peter opens his mouth, expression earnest. “Stiles—“

 

“Shut up.” Stiles snaps because he can’t bare to here anything else, he’s here for cold comfort that is all and he knows it, knows that when he wakes in the morning that he’s going to hate himself even more than he normally does. But right now he’s not thinking about the consequences, he just need to feel Peter’s skin against his, wants to feel what it’s like to be loved again.

 

The self-loathing comes on quicker than last time, for once they’d made it to a bed and Stiles stays buried under the sheets, curled away from a dozing Peter, breathing deeply. Stiles arms and legs ache from clinging on but he doesn’t quite feel ready to slip out, he doesn’t know if he can face his own thoughts alone right now.

 

It a weird sort of feeling that he gets like the hairs on the back of his neck are standing on end and he spidey senses are tingling which has him rousing from the fetal position. A breeze wafts in and Stiles shivers luckily he’d slipped on a baggy t-shirt and some boxers before settling down and wrapping himself up in sheets.

 

Stiles squints at the shadows rising to sit up in the bed and his movement seems to disturb Peter who unlike Stiles isn’t fully clothed. One of the shadows move and Stiles rubs at his eyes thinking maybe it’s a trick of the light or the not light in this case.

 

Something is very wrong and it’s got Stiles’s heart beating a pump faster than it should.  

 

The shadows move forward into the light and it’s the two shinning blue orbs that Stiles sees first but that’s all he needs to suddenly sit up straighter, he doesn’t need to look at his other side to know that Peter whose eyes are trained on the exact same figure as Stiles has a wide toothy smile on his face.

 

“Well isn’t this awkward.” Peter drawls at Derek.

 

Derek, _oh god_ Stiles can’t help but stare at him his whole mind has gone into shock because Derek is freaking here, this is the worst possible thing that could have happened. Derek isn’t looking at Stiles probably can’t, he’s watching Peter and there’s an utter rage and fury on his face that is only held back by the clenching of his jaw.

 

That doesn’t stop Peter from pushing his buttons. “Must really cut you up inside huh? Really is a track record for you Derek, maybe you just aren’t satisfying them right, I could give you a few tips.”

 

There’s the distinct sound of knuckles cracking and Stiles throat feels dry and he can’t speak, he feels utterly helpless as Peter continues. “Unlikely you’ll get to use them with Stiles here, but he’s a specific kind of rough, should have got your claws out,” Peter licks his lips eyes darting to Stiles. “He just _loves_ having some animal in him.”

 

Stiles only blinks and then there’s the sound of Derek slamming Peter into the wall, his grip choking round the man’s neck, Derek’s fangs are bared, claws drawing blood, he’s practically wolfed out and it’s only then when Stiles finally gets a hold of himself and starts moving.

 

 _“Derek”_ His voice strangled and weak, Derek gives no sign of hearing him, _“Derek!”_ Stiles repeats this time louder more desperate as Derek slowly chokes the life out of Peter, Stiles hands come up in an attempt to release Derek’s iron grip but his anger is currently giving him the up hand.

 

“ _Derek_ stop this – he isn’t worth it,” Stiles realizes he’s shouting, voice cracking tears creeping there way up, practically scratching Derek’s hands to ribbons as he tries to get him off, Peter kicks out his legs, slightly choking violently but his red wolf-out face is still smug, his blue eyes alight on Derek daring him _come on do it._

Stiles pleads still fall on deaf ears, seeing no alternative he thrusts a fist forward hitting Derek in the face. The beta loses his grip on Peter – the man dropping to the floor – but then Derek’s turning sharply to Stiles fist lashing out, punching Stiles hard in the jaw, the force has him stumbling more from shock than anything else.

 

He turns back to Derek eyes wide as he presses a hand to his mouth in shock. Derek breathes fast, his expression equally shocked before it’s taken over by pain and guilt; he looks down at his clenched fist, unclenching it slowly.         

 

He moves past Stiles not even trusting himself to touch him and Stiles can’t move for a moment head still reeling as he hears the door slam shut. “Derek, no wait –” He calls out, throwing on his jeans and jacket, shoes not on properly as he takes off in a run after him.

 

He doesn’t even glance back at Peter who is no doubt on the floor gasping for breath trying to realign some dislocated bones.    

 

He gets down to the back alley where Peter’s apartment is situated glancing either way, he sees Derek’s shrouded figure walking away. 

 

“Derek, stop” Stiles shouts running after him _”Derek!”_ He shouts again but the man doesn’t stop in his fast pace.

 

Stiles continues jogging till he a least a couple feet away from him. “Derek I’m sorry, I—“ Derek halts abruptly and so does Stiles, he doesn’t think he’d take kindly if he tried to get any closer.

 

Derek’s quiet like maybe he’s waiting for something but Stiles can’t think of anything. “I don’t know what to say.”

 

“It didn’t mean anything.” Stiles says in hope that maybe that will ease Derek’s anger or at least get him to speak, maybe even look at Stiles.  

 

“Doesn’t change the fact it happened.” Derek says speaking for the first time but the voice is one of a stranger, Stiles has heard it before, he’s heard it directed at Jennifer, Kate, Gerard but Stiles has never heard it directed at him.

 

Derek’s head turns slightly as he addresses Stiles again but still not looking at him. “Once?”

 

“I,” Stiles hesitates looking to the dark sky as if it can help.

 

Derek snaps round his face contorted in fury as he snarls venomously. “Don’t lie to me, don’t you fucking lie to me.”

 

He continues voice dropping low, hard as ice almost controlled and Stiles gets a flash of fear. “Was it fun for you?” Derek says low and accusing taking a few steps leaning forward. “Huh Stiles, screwing my uncle – _the man who killed my fucking sister –_ behind my back.”

 

Stiles flinches, the apology bursting from him in a sob. “I’m sorry.”

 

Derek doesn’t say anything more, nothing but cold and shattering anger on his face, mixed with hate and disgust and Stiles can feel it like ice stabbing his heart, the tears falling freely as he begs the man in front of him. “Derek, please.” _I need you_ Stiles thinks desperately _pleasepleasederekplease._

It doesn’t change anything Derek gives him one final look and Stiles is searching his face trying to find one positive emotion in it but is unsuccessful. Derek turns his back, continuing in his fast pace. Stiles stares after him, hating himself for how he hopes that Derek will turn back hates how his mind reassures him but it’s all false.

 

The pain comes, a sharp stabbing ache, till Stiles feels like his hearts being ripped out of his chest, so much worse than the last time. This pain, this is worse than any battle wound he’s got over the years, he’s only felt this devastating pain once before and he doesn’t remember hurting so bad.

 

Stiles can hardly breathe, he feels like all the air has been sucked out of him and gone with Derek, he thinks maybe he’ll just bleed out or wither and die. His knees give out and he’s there kneeling on the tarmac crying for the empty hole that’s been left in his chest.

 

Sometime later, when he manages to get home, into his dad’s arms, when he wakes up the next day, he’ll sit on his bed with Scott next to him, crying into his best friends lap as he gasps for air, trying to remember how to breathe, trying to keep from dying. Not like a panic attack, though every gasp is pain, it’s something that he needs to go through, till the tears run dry but for now as Scott’s hand strokes his hair Stiles lets himself go.  

 

 

-

 

  

“I wasn’t expecting you today.” Is Deaton’s greeting, it’s a few weeks later and the days of sleep haven’t helped Stiles much, he still carries himself stiff but he knows better than to use the fight with Jennifer as an excuse, Deaton may not know about what Stiles has been through but he’s sure his watcher is aware and puzzled the pieces together.

 

They’re actually starting to get into a pattern again with training and all, it helps Stiles get his mind off things but still gives him time to think when he can face his own thoughts. He’s getting better now, he thinks at least after everything that happened with Peter and Derek it’s getting easier to be strong again. His dad helps though he doesn’t realize it, being able to talk to him about these things for the first time in a relax manner with a meat lovers pizza, watching old school Kung Fu movies with Stiles’s constant running commentary. He’s spending more time with Scott to and now after the whole Isaac and Allison thing they sort of seek out each other’s company and it’s nice to feel that close again, though Stiles still has his own secrets to tell but all in time.

 

Stiles shrugs dumping his gym bag on Deaton’s desk. News was flying round town about some guy being mauled up near the cemetery, Stiles has it on good authority that it was not a werewolf meaning Chris took a step back, leaving the heavy lifting to Stiles.

 

“Thought I could be useful.”

 

Deaton watches him for a moment like he’s going to say something, maybe turn him down and tell Stiles to go home, instead he looks back rustling through some papers on his desk. “I got a tip from a demon dealer in San Francisco that a trio of hellhounds escaped.”

 

“Hellhounds, seriously?” Stiles blurts out in disbelief.

 

“Many Hell and demon dimensions do in fact exist.” Right, Stiles is pretty sure that had been part of his slayer reading that Deaton had given him way back when, Stiles had never been a handbook person, more of a hands-on kind of learner. “But why are they here?”

 

Deaton gives Stiles a raised eyebrow some how looking like a disappointed teacher. “They were drawn here.”

 

“Right I forget we’re going to be entertaining the weird and creepy a lot more often.” Stiles rubs the back of his neck, making his way to the weapons, stuffing a few stakes in his bag for good measure along with some vicious looking knives. “I’ll track them through the forest, no doubt their looking for another kill.” He pulls back the drawstring of his crossbow. “I’ll catch them first.”

 

Deaton comes round his other side leaning against the cabinet as Stiles lines up an arrow. “On your own, you sure that’s wise.”

 

Stiles keeps his eyes down. “You don’t think I can handle it?”

 

“I know you can handle it.” Deaton says the man would scoff at the question if he could scoff but he does give a barely noticeable rolling of his eyes, “just thought you might prefer the company.”

 

Stiles shakes his head, giving a small but firm half-smile.

 

“How’s Scott?” Deaton asks suddenly out of nowhere.

 

Stiles pauses in his ministrations glancing at Deaton then back down. “As expected.”

 

Deaton nods though Stiles can only just see it out the corner of his eye. Scott is doing better would be the correct description, he always does have a way of looking on the bright side and he supposes it helps he has his new alpha status to focus on.

 

“And how are you doing?” Deaton asks gently.

 

For a second Stiles thinks about brushing it off, like all the other times whenever anyone’s asked. It was only several days ago the he’d cried himself silly in Scott’s lap, till his head hurt and his voice was hoarse his breathing close to hyperventilation. There often times when he wants to do it all over again but then Scott’s there gripping his hand hard, squeezing his shoulder like he knows.

 

“I’m…better.” Stiles tells him. “It’s gotten easier.” Deaton doesn’t say anything like he’s waiting for Stiles to say more and it’s coming out of Stiles then, words suddenly coming to his lips in a resigned tone. “When I think about it though, I don’t feel, sad or guilty or angry.” Stiles licks his suddenly dry lips. “I feel sort of empty.”

 

Deaton’s eyes seem to shine for a moment and his hand twitches like he wants to reach out and comfort him but stops himself like he thinks it’s too soon. Stiles finds himself not minding it though, wants that comfort from Deaton again. Sometime after his fight with Jennifer is when he realized and let himself accept what Deaton did was for the best, that even though what he did was cruel he’s trying to let Stiles see that one day maybe not today but some day soon he’s going to have to make the decision of sacrifice.

 

It scares him when that day comes, when he’s suddenly no longer the hero but instead the general. He doesn’t want to become another solider, but then he looks at Deaton and remembers his friends and knows they won’t let that happen.

 

“But right now,” Stiles says his voice suddenly sounding oddly chirpy as he throws the bag over his shoulder, the crossbow on his other. “I really need to kill something.”

 

Deaton can barely hide his smile and it feels like nothing’s changed.

 

He tracks the hell dogs north, back round the preserve, near to the graveyard why the dogs think they’ll find living human brains there he doesn’t know because the only people who hang out in graveyards are vampires and Stiles. The first one goes down when Stiles fires off an arrow, that gets the other two’s attention.

 

They more look like a cross between a monkey on all fours and a dog, with sharp teeth, claws and pointy ears, thick grey fur and red in patches (or maybe that’s blood?), face oddly squished like they’d run into a wall a few hundred times.

 

Stiles runs pretty fast but he can hear the series of growls and snarls getting closer, when they are right on his heels, Stiles jumps up grabbing on to one of the thick low hanging branches, using his strength to swing full circle the dogs already ran past him as Stiles swings round, landing on his feet with a thump.

 

They turn round sharply, only just realising the trick Stiles has pulled and one of them lunges at him, Stiles kicking it hard as it’s in mid air and the other follows soon after. Stiles is caught unawares by the second and it throws him onto his back as it snaps its teeth at him, only being held back by Stiles’s strength. Drool and bad breath is what he gets as it snarls at him and Stiles shoves at it and they roll over several times. Stiles manages to awkwardly reach into the pocket of his leather jacket brandishing a knife and trusting it into the beast’s heart.   

 

The next one he eventually manages to catch around the ankles pulling it to him till it lies on top of him, Stiles holds the thing firmly by the neck, giving one sharp twist he snaps it’s neck with crack.

 

Stiles gives out a gasp of relief arms going limp and stares up aimlessly at the night sky, obscured slightly by the tree tops and decorated with stars, what a beautiful sight. On top of him the hellhound begins to give off a horrible stench of death and something else Stiles really doesn’t want to think about, he gives a sound of drawn out disgust and maybe some sort of giggle gets in there to, because finally after all this time, laying here on the forest floor, in the dead of night with hellhound carcass on top of him, Stiles finally doesn’t feel so bad anymore, in fact he feels better than he has in a long time. 

**Author's Note:**

> Ha-ah, it's been a while I've been busy I fucking swear and running into too much writers block and then Hannibal happened and now my fic folder is full of Hannigram WIPs but no need to worry I haven't forgotten about my bbs Stiles and Derek and I'm still planning to give then their happy ending in this au though how I'm going to do that I have no idea. Think I'll wait till 3b is over before I attempt another fic and I'll probably follow my own plot as a oppose as to following the teen wolf story lines. 
> 
> As usual a lot of Buffy and Angel is quoted directly in this and I apologise for any wrong spelling or grammar and finally (if your are still with me) thank you for your patience and words of encouragement, your kudos and comments kept me going! 
> 
> http://anothersalvagemission.tumblr.com


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